Just a Number
by Virgo Writer
Summary: He was never her coach & she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap...and the Atlantic Ocean. And gymnastics. And his reputation. Not to mention that noone thinks he's right for her. But age is Just a Number...right? AU
1. Have We Met?

**Just a Number**

A/N: Apparently I get really ambitious at this time of year. I just wake up one day and I think I can totally re-write a show with one of the main protagonists as an angel. Or that I can take away the coach-gymnast factor and still maintain the things we love best about Sasha/Payson shipping.

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

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Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

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Just a Number – Have We Met?

_World Gymnastics Championship, 2011 – Tokyo, Japan.  
October 2011._

The four eighteen-year-old girls had hidden themselves in a corner of the stadium as they spied on the competition. Well, sort of. Technically it wasn't their competition they were spying on, even though the British Women's Gymnastics Team was practicing in the same area. None of them really cared that much about the British gymnastics team, except for one particular member who was currently accelerating towards the vault to a Yurchenko with two and a half twists: his easier vault.

"He's incredible," Payson Keeler awed, releasing the breath she had been holding until he landed. "I can't even think of the words to describe him," she sighed, causing her three friends to giggle at her uncharacteristic behaviour.

"Do you think he's going to do his signature vault?" Emily Kmetko asked eagerly, leaning forward in her seat. "He hasn't performed it since Athens."

"I heard they finally named it after him in the latest code of points," Lauren Tanner imparted in a covert way. "They gave it an 11.5 start value."

They all knew that she was exaggerating, but none of them corrected her. It was impossible to have a start value higher than ten, even if the five-time Wold Champion's vault deserved such a ranking. His vault was at least as difficult as Xio Jun Feng's, if not harder because of the transition between skills. The vault could barely even be classified into a particular form, falling within at least two of the vault groups.

The four of them watched in anticipation as once more he raced towards the vault at great speed. With a fluidity that even the most artistic gymnast would envy, he transitioned into a handspring, his hands hitting the floor and then the vault a few moments later. From the vault he pushed off into a double-salto in piked position, his aerodynamic form cutting through the air, and landed surely on his feet without even a hop in any direction.

Payson jumped to her feet as he raised his arms in a salute and clapped her hands wildly. "Go, Sasha!" she cheered loudly, lost in the moment. She gasped as she remembered their position, clamping her hands to her mouth in embarrassment.

The male gymnast looked their way, the sudden cheer certainly getting the twenty-six year old's attention. His grey-blue eyes flicked over the four of them, his frown slowly turning to recognition as he took in the four girls clad in their red, white, and blue Team USA tracksuits.

"You've done it now, Payson," Kaylie Cruz admonished. "He's going to have us removed."

But he didn't, instead sending the four of them an amused smile and a cheeky wink at the loudest of his four American fans. Payson grinned stupidly at the semi-flirtatious action and ducked her head to try and hide her cheesy smile from her friends.

Kaylie rolled her eyes. "Geez, Pay, what's the big deal?" she asked tiredly, seeming to lack some of the enthusiasm of her three fellow gymnasts. "It's _only_ Sasha Belov."

Lauren, Payson, and Emily all gasped together in exaggerated shock, although genuinely appalled by Kaylie's blasé attitude to _the_ Sasha Belov, one of the most decorated athletes in their sport since Nikolai Andrianov.

"_Only_ Sasha Belov," Payson began on his behalf, keeping her voice to a low hiss so as not to engender their idol's attention once again. "He's _only_ one of the youngest male gymnast ever to win all-around at the Olympics. He _only_ held the world title for _five_ years. He's _only_ the only male gymnast to have won an Olympic gold medal in all six events. And he's _only_ the favourite for this Worlds despite having been out of competition for nearly two years."

"And what am I, chopped liver?" interrupted a cordial voice touched by a southern twang. They all turned in his direction, Kaylie suddenly beaming with happiness at the appearance of _her_ favourite Olympian.

"Austin, what are you doing here?" she asked warmly, gesturing for him come sit beside her. "I thought you were staying outside."

"I was," Austin Tucker responded, "but you guys were taking forever in here. What's taking you so long?"

"Payson's got a gymnastics crush on Sasha Belov," Kaylie responded snidely. "She won't let us leave," she added, even though she was the only one even willing to consider leaving before Sasha did.

Austin shrugged at her response. "Who doesn't?" he asked her idly as Lauren and Emily hummed in agreement. "I'm a guy and even I think he's a gymnastics god."

"That's not the point," Kaylie huffed, crossing her arms.

"He's looking our way again," Lauren said suddenly, ignoring Kaylie's sulky looks. She let out an excited 'eep' and quickly turned her head away, playing it cool as the renowned gymnast glanced in their direction. "Quick, Austin, go away before he thinks we're with you."

For a moment he almost thought that Lauren was trying to protect him (because while it was improper for the girls to be watching the practice of a low-ranking competitor, it was considered cheating for Austin to be watching the practice of the only thing standing between him and gold). Instead she was protecting herself. Her tone (and the lack of protest by her fellow gymnasts) suggested they were embarrassed of him and wanted him gone before Sasha got the wrong idea and thought they were friends or something.

But it was already too late, and Sasha was already jogging towards him, with no visible trace of the knee injury that had kept him out of competition after his fall at Beijing. The operation, as far as they could surmise, had been a complete success and he looked as good as ever (at least by the girls' appraisal) and only a little bit older.

"So these are your spies, _Puiule_," Sasha surmised by way of greeting, smiling at Austin's suddenly antagonized look. It had been a running joke in Beijing among the male gymnasts to give Austin childish pet names due to his diminutive age at the time. Three years on, Sasha (and pretty much every other gymnast he had competed against in Beijing) still hadn't let it go.

"Spies," Austin scoffed. "I like to think of them as my own foxy, super-talented, covert angels, only with better hair and no actual combat skills.

"Theyz ma gurls," he added with a flick of his wrist, earning himself four out of five eye rolls.

"We weren't spying for him, Mr. Belov," Emily assured him quickly with an imploring look. "We just wanted to see if you were still as good as everyone says."

"Sasha or Alexandru," he replied, a grimace flicking briefly across his face. "Never Mr. Belov.

"So what verdict did you reach?" he added, the question almost unnecessary.

"Better than before?" she gave as her questioning reply, shrugging her shoulders and giving an easy smile that made her look endearing enough to get away with almost any crime. Sasha gave a light laugh, shaking his head but not admonishing her blatantly toadying response.

"Have we met before?" he asked, frowning a little in concentration. "You all seem vaguely familiar, or perhaps it's simply your esteemed company," he suggested with a sarcastic wave in Austin's direction.

"I'm Kaylie Cruz," Kaylie answered quickly, stepping to her feet and offering her hand.

Sasha nodded as he took it in his own. "Two-time national champion," he deduced appraisingly before moving to Lauren.

"Lauren Tanner," she said haughtily, announcing her own title, "bitch of the beam."

Sasha nodded but smiled tightly before offering his hand to the more shy burnet beside her. "Emily Kmetko," she told him, "the one from the Y."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," he shrugged. "You should see where my father grew up in Romania. It doesn't mean you have any less right to be here, Emily."

Emily just nodded shyly, blushing at his easy dismissal of one of her deepest fears as Payson stood up beside her.

Payson offered her hand, and he took it gently, his calloused fingers brushing up against her own. "You're Payson Keeler," he said softly before she could offer it herself, her name sounding like honey from his lips. "The li'l engine that could," he endowed affectionately, smiling all the while.

It was almost like an electric current passing between them, and Payson understood that this was kindred spirit – someone who shared her very soul in a most profound way. Had they been coach and athlete, they would have been so in synch with one another that words would be unnecessary and she would sense his gaze upon her even if she couldn't see it. Instead they were fellow competitors, and so the sense was that of meeting an equal, or one's perfect match – the person who most complimented you in every feasible way.

"You . . . you know who I am?" she asked shyly, the smile on her own face irrepressible.

He laughed lightly, shaking his head in amusement. "Miss. Keeler, I consider myself a fan of yours," he told her charmingly, making her smile even brighter. "I didn't know how I was going to get back into gymnastics after my injury, but seeing you do the same was an inspiration. I figured if you could come back like you did at Worlds after a major back injury, then who was I to complain about my knee."

"Thank you," Payson responded, unable to find better words. She usually felt so uncomfortable talking about her injury, but Sasha made it seem like a badge of honour. She had recovered from the worst possible injury for any athlete, and come back to her sport as good as ever, even if it had been a difficult journey. Some skills had been lost due to lack of practice, but recoverable, but others were lost completely due to changes in her body. But she was determined to be the same gymnast she was before her injury at Nationals – thus Sasha's endearment. **The Little Engine That Could **was the perfect metaphor to describe Payson Keeler, even if the allusion was older than she was.

"I suppose you ladies should go before the women's coach catches sight of you," he cautioned, glancing in the direction of his female counterparts. "She'll think the defending champions are trying to steal some great training secret from her and let it go to her head.

"Don't inflict that on me," he begged jokingly. "Coach Frost," he addressed sarcastically, "is already near impossible to deal with. I'd hate her to think she had a reason to be so uppity."

The girls nodded in agreement, having seen enough of the British women's coach to share his sentiment. Elsabeth Frost was a pedantic woman with no sense of her own mediocrity. He was right to think she would take their presence as a compliment to herself.

"It was nice meeting you, Sasha," Kaylie spoke on their behalf, taking responsibility as team captain. The three other girls nodded in agreement.

"You too, ladies," he agreed. "I'll be rooting for you," he assured them with another friendly wink, waving them off as they went on their way. His eyes lingered upon one particular gymnast's receding figure as she left, watching the unconscious sway of her hips until he caught himself doing so.

The girls chatted eagerly as they left, commenting on how nice Sasha Belov was in person and how he was nothing like what the media made him out to be. He always seemed so standoffish when the cameras were on him, but he'd been nothing but a gentleman to the four of them and positively charming. They discussed how handsome he was, the light stubble making him look rugged and dangerous compared to the clean-shaven chiseled look he usually wore for competition. Even Kaylie agreed that he was remarkably handsome, while adding the caveat that she personally preferred burnets without specifically mentioning Austin.

"Who'd have thunk it," their male companion commented, shaking his head at the feminine display.

"What?" Payson asked, wondering why Austin had decided to interrupt their discussion.

"You, Keeler," Austin answered vaguely. She gave him a curious look and so he explained, "you've gone all girly over Sasha Belov."

"I have not," Payson protested, flushing red at the insinuation.

"You have," Austin disagreed, "but at least now I understand why none of the other guys ever appealed to you.

"You little Lolita, you," he teased, catching her head in brotherly headlock. "I'm assuming it's the older guy thing and not the accent."

"Oh my gosh, we like haven't said anything about his accent," Lauren said suddenly, forcing the conversation back to the vital topic and so leaving Austin's teasing forgotten. "How _dreamy_ is that accent?"

With renewed vigour, all four girls engrossed themselves in conversation about Sasha's accent with particular attention paid to the words that gave away his true origins. Austin's comments (and his presence for the most part) were completely forgotten and rightly so. Because there was nothing to them – not yet anyway – and they were hardly worth attending to. Not when they had more important matters to discuss . . . like the exactly colour of Sasha Belov's eyes.

~ to be continued ~

Hmmm . . . interesting start, right? I'm hoping I'm not the only person who thinks so. I had the vague notion that things would be so much easier if they weren't coach and athlete, but would it really? It's still an age-inappropriate relationship, and now we have a bad boy reputation to contend with. And the fact that they're on opposing teams. And Marty and MJ. And probably Ellen Beals at some point (probably Elsabeth Frost too as the English equivalent of Beals), although she's always going to be a problem irrespective of age gaps and the like.

Let me know what you think.

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**Notes:** I would have preferred to maintain the typical age gap between Sasha and Payson, but it just didn't seem all that feasible. For one thing, it would have meant Sasha going into his fourth Olympics, and I couldn't find a single gymnast who had medalled in more than three. Secondly, I thought the 11 year age gap might have been pushing things without The Rock to bring them together. Anyway, because of that, Sydney 2000 becomes Athens 2004, except for the knee injury, which moves to Beijing 2008 followed by a miraculous recovery. This Sasha is a bit more light-hearted I suppose than the series Sasha (at least when he first arrived at The Rock), largely because he hasn't had to face a lot of the experiences that the series Sasha did and he still has his gymnastics to get him through.

I'm going to be posting this on my livejournal account as well (same name - virgowriter - cos I'm unoriginal) mostly because I can insert pictures and stuff if I need to with livejournal entries. I'm gonna try and make the fanfiction version of the story the 'clean' version - no authors notes before or after, and the only additional info you get are notes and translations. We'll see how that works. I might throw in the occasional additional material in there too, depending on my mood.

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**Romanian Translations:**

_puiule:_ cub/baby.


	2. A Good Night's Sleep

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

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Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

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Just a Number – A Good Night's Sleep

Payson tossed and turned in her bed, unable to get to sleep and unable to get the image of those blue-grey eyes out of her head. She blamed Lauren for the later, which was the ultimate cause of the former. Lauren had insisted on reprieving the conversation of Sasha Belov's best features (which were all of them as far as both girls were concerned) before they went to sleep, and because of that the male gymnast was now firmly lodged in her brain. Every time she closed her eyes she would see his face and found it quite impossible to find rest under such circumstances.

She sighed in aggravation, opening her eyes widely in a gesture of rebellion. She'd never been a restless sleeper. She could usually sleep anywhere – planes, cars, chairs, gym mats, and window ledges even, if her mother was to be believed – and yet thus far she'd managed to go nearly six hours without falling asleep. The bed was perfectly comfortable, and she considered their hotel here in Tokyo at the higher end of the spectrum when it came to hotel rooms, but none of that seemed to be aiding her in her near useless pursuit.

"That's it," she muttered as she sat straight up in bed and threw her legs over the side. Lauren made a small murmur of annoyance but did not wake, the gesture seeming to taunt Payson to the nth degree. If she had been in a more belligerent mood (and lack of sleep made her plenty belligerent) she would have spitefully forced Lauren to stay awake with her, but she kindly let the 'bitch of the beam' sleep, taking pity on her given the gruelling practice they'd endure in four hours time.

Payson dressed quickly, being careful not to make too much noise. If she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, then at least she could do something useful like putting in a work out in the hotel's gym. She always preferred working out when no one was around, anyway, and so 3 am was honestly the best time for her to be working out. And if she thought about it in terms of Boulder time, it'd be like 11 am Boulder time and she'd have already been at the gym for five hours by then and probably about ready for a bit of conditioning training to harden her muscles.

She cringed at her own reasoning, knowing perfectly well that the logic was poorly grounded but that it was either working out or twiddling her thumbs for the next few hours until Lauren could reasonably be expected to be awake. She picked the gym only because she was the kind of person who couldn't stand doing nothing. A work out could always be something of value, provided she didn't work herself too hard.

There was one other person in the gym, but she ignored their presence, not even sparing a glance in his or her direction before placing her ear buds in her ears and stretching out her muscles. As she began her circuit, she was disappointed to find that having something to do didn't take her mind away from her current fascination. Still she thought of Sasha Belov, even as she pushed her body to extremes in an effort to drive her mind to distraction. Some part of her seemed determined to think of nothing but him until some other fascination took its place. When her eyes flicked briefly to the other occupant of the gym, she even thought vaguely that he looked a bit like Sasha, but gave her gym buddy no more thought than that given that she'd been comparing Sasha's looks to others in her head all night.

_'Desperate times call for desperate measures_,' she thought scathingly as she looked for something more concrete to distract herself. She extricated herself from the rowing machine, turning her music player to the short piece of music used for her floor routine. She took her place in front of the huge mirror covering two walls of the gym and began going through the motions in an almost habitual manner, going through toe touches and pirouettes and flowery gestures. Her expression remained stoic as she recalled each part, visualizing the tumbles and aerial stunts intermingled with these elements, until finally she finished, raising her arms in salute.

"Is that the dance element of your floor routine?"

Payson gasped at the sudden interruption, dragging the headphones out of her ears as she turned to face Sasha Belov in the flesh hovering nearby with a look of curiosity and interest. She nodded mutely, her own expression imitating that of a frightened rabbit.

He nodded thoughtfully, moving closer as he spoke. "You should . . ." he paused, his movements towards her frozen, "do you mind?" he asked, a slight gesture of his hands indicating what he was asking permission for.

"O-of cou-course not," she stuttered awkwardly, turning back to face the mirror so that he was now standing behind her. She realized the futility of her gesture as her eyes met his steely blue in their reflections – she had wanted a moment away from his gaze to find her bearings, but instead she'd found herself with those same eyes upon her more intensely than ever.

"You need to tense your core," he said, pressing his hand to her stomach, "and push back your shoulders." She did so automatically, more because of the warmth of his hand seeping through her thin, cotton singlet than in actual response to his instructions.

With his free hand, he lifted her arm from her side, guiding it up until it was parallel to the ground. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as he slowly guided his hand down the length of her arm, each muscle tensing and lengthening as he moved against it until he reached the very tips of her fingers. His other hand finally left her stomach, and he did the same with her other arm until both were held tight in line at parallels to the ground. He moved to in front of her, lifting her chin ever so slightly with a light stroke of his finger to her jaw.

"Do you see?" he asked her, frowning as he tried to find the right words. "You need to elongate your lines. Fully extended. Perfectly straight.

"Every one of your limbs should feel as though it were six feet long," he finished lowly, his eyes locked with hers. "Try a cartwheel."

She nodded, understanding everything he was saying even though he only seemed to speak in partial thoughts, rather than sharing the whole content aloud. She performed the cartwheel as instructed, extending her legs in the same way he had her arms.

"Better?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

"Yeah," she told him gently, smiling to reassure him.

"Now try your routine like that," he said, cringing a moment later as he replayed the words in his head. "What I meant to say," he began again, "is you should try your dance routine like that, if you want to."

"Will you watch?" she asked, flicking her music player back to her floor music once again. He nodded as she fitted the ear buds into her ears and took her starting position. As the music played, she focused on his instructions, exaggerating her lines to give them more form and forgetting about the other elements for the time being.

"What was the music?" he asked as she finished, his features marred with an unsettling frown.

"**Across the Universe**," she answered uncertainly.

"I don't see it," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't see what?"

He sighed, once again struggling to find the words. "It should tell a story," he finally managed. "That song is like a prayer. _Jai guru deva_," he quoted from the song. "It means 'thanks to the divine teacher' in Sanskrit."

She still gave him confused so he tried a different tactic. "When you're dancing to something you like, you dance to what the song means, not just the beat," he offered, hoping he was making more sense.

"I don't dance," Payson insisted seriously, crossing her arms protectively around her. Sasha realized immediately that she was closing herself off from him, receding as they began to approach a subject she was uncomfortable with. He wondered what it was that she as trying to avoid here, because his own impressions of Payson Keeler did not make her out as the sort of person who would shy away from anything.

"Not even in your bedroom," he wheedled playfully, with a knowing wink. She seemed to settle a little, her arms not quite as tight.

"That doesn't count," she answered. "Nobody can see me then, and trust me, I'm really bad at it. That's why I don't do it public."

"Prove it then," he teased, trying to push her past her own roadblocks.

"What? Right here?" she asked, disbelief written across her face. "I can't do it here. Not with you just standing there watching."

He seemed to consider her point for a moment and then held his hand out towards her. "Alright, hand it over," he commanded, looking deadly serious. "iPod," he explained, tapping the strap holding her device in place.

"What are you doing?" she asked curiously, handing it over despite her questions and reservations.

"I'm looking for something I know," he answered vaguely as he scrolled through her music files. "Tim Minchkin," he grinned approvingly. "Oh, Payson, you've got some awful music on here. Miley Cyrus? How could you?"

"She had some good songs and I've got like unlimited memory space. I don't delete anything," she explained, still waiting for Sasha to explain exactly why he needed something he knew.

"Ah, here's my jam," he grinned as he found what he was looking for, pressing play. He pulled out the headphones and tucked them in the pocket of his basketball shorts, and turned the internal speaker to full volume, singing along as the words of the song began.

_"It was a _hot_ summer night and the beach was burning, there was fog crawling over the sand,"_ he sang awfully, strumming along dramatically and making Mick Jagger faces. _"When I listen to your heart I hear the whole world turning. I see the shooting stars falling through your trembling hands._

"Payson," he said, offering the device towards her as though it were a microphone as it continued with the verse. She shook her head adamantly, laughing at his uncoordinated, over exaggerated movements. "C'mon, Payson," he near begged as he shook his hips comically.

"I can't," she protested, laughing and shaking her head. "I can't do that."

"You can't be any worse than me," he argued back.

"I don't know the words."

"But I bet you know the chorus," he answered. "Everyone knows the chorus. I'm not letting you out of this, Payson."

"Fine," she relented as he dropped to his knees to serenade her the bridge.

_"You hold me so close that my knees grow week but my soul is flying high above the ground," _he sang as he held her hand in his own. Payson played the part of his swooning fan girl, holding a hand to her breast as she looked wistfully into the distance. _"I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do, I just can't seem to make any sound."_

The song held for two heartbeats and then broke into chorus, Payson singing along as promised in a sweet only slightly off-key voice. _"And then you took the words right out of my mouth. It must have been when you were kissing me_," she sang, her hips swaying timidly at first, but with more surety as she got into the mood, pantomiming the words. She blew Sasha a kiss as he got to his feet, completely entranced by her movements. _"You took the words right out of my mouth. And I swear it's true, I was just about to say I love you."_

Sasha joined her in the next chorus, her movements becoming more sure as the beat grew stronger and as it wasn't just her dancing by herself. She moved fluidly to the music, her hips dipping and swaying in just the right way and her hands flittering into gestures that went with the words. As the music went into the second verse, she moved closer to him, singing the words where she knew them (_"You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining; I was dying just to ask for a taste"_) and humming along where she didn't, and still moving along to the music with steadily growing confidence. She smiled brightly, making it clear to him that she was enjoying this despite her initial protest. She didn't say a word when the song ended, and he quickly found another familiar song.

She was positively stunning. Sasha didn't think he had ever seen anything more beautiful as the two of them danced like idiots until they ran out of songs they could agree upon. The confidence and happiness she found as they progressed made her shine brighter than any star, and yet that initial self-consciousness was so endearing in its own way.

"You were wrong, Payson," he told her as she packed up her things to leave. She looked at him curiously, awaiting further explanation. "You're an excellent dancer," he assured her warmly, smiling affectionately. "And I hope I get the joy of being your dance partner again sometime," he added with a flirtatious wink.

"Night, Sasha," she said, not quite believing him, but not disagreeing all the same. His eyes lingered upon her as she left; drawn to that same unconscious sway he had been intent upon yesterday.

_'Careful, Belov,'_ he cautioned himself, forcing his eyes to look at anything but the power gymnast in his direct line of vision. _'She's a gymnast,'_ he added, although he couldn't at the moment remember what so bad about that fact. She was beautiful, determined, disciplined, sweet, and brilliant – all qualities he tended to admire in the fairer sex – and had a body that could bend in ways that others might deem unnatural. She was also only eighteen years old, but that was neither here nor there.

What was perhaps more concerning was that she was _Marty Walsh's _gymnast. He knew what it would look like and his resentful history with Marty certainly had some warning lights flashing. He knew he should stay away from her. He knew he should just forget about her and focus on his gymnastics, but there was something about her that drew him every time.

Perhaps it was because that in many ways, at least when it came to her gymnastics, she was a lot like him. She was focused upon her goal and wouldn't allow for distractions – impossibly driven, to the point of single-mindedness. She was passionate, and she cared as much about gymnastics as he did, even putting the sport above her own health as he had done many a time. She was completely disciplined and unwilling to settle for anything less than her best, often coming down harder on herself than she would others. He was all these things, and he saw much of himself in the calculated risks she took and her ability to block everything but gymnastics from her mind.

Perhaps it was the contradiction he'd seen before him today. When it came to gymnastics she had all the confidence and sureness in the world, but when he asked her perform a dance, she suddenly became shy and self-conscious and withdrew into her own world. Had he complimented her on her gymnastics, she would have known exactly how to respond, but when he complimented her dancing, she was unsure and unwilling to believe the truth of his words. There was much more to her than met the eye, and he wanted badly to see what lay beyond that.

Or perhaps it really was only skin deep. She was undeniably a very beautiful woman. There were curves to her body he wasn't used to seeing in gymnasts, but which he appreciated all the same. Her features were petite and very pretty, and her hair looked as though it would be heaven to run his fingers through. He couldn't even say what exactly it was about her that made her so beautiful, and yet he knew without a doubt that she was more beautiful than he could find words to describe.

He groaned tiredly, pulling his hair in frustration. He had come down here to try and work Payson Keeler out of his head and had clearly failed miserably. She was all the more rooted in his thoughts now, her picture becoming more three-dimensional now and not simply the cookie cut image of who he thought she was. And as that image took form she became more intriguing, more drawing, and more appealing than ever.

He wanted to know more about her; he wanted to know about her hopes, her wishes, her dreams. About what had started her in gymnastics and how she had found that drive to keep going when everyone else around her was giving up. He wanted to know what made her who she was and he wanted to complete the picture he was beginning to form of her.

He wanted her. He wanted everything about her.

And that thought terrified him.

~ to be continued ~

I wasn't going to post until next week, but the response to the first chapter was so great I wanted to put this chapter up right away. I adore 'goofy-Sasha' in this - so much for him being a sophisticated, older gentleman, right? And so much for my 'clean' chapters. I should have known better.

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**Notes:**

Across the Universe - The Beatles (1969, Lennon & McCartney) see RRSO Symphony for Orchestral version.

You Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth - Meatloaf (1977, Steinman)

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**Translations:**

_Jai guru deva_: literally "glory to the shining remover of darkness"


	3. Same Old Song

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

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Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

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Just a Number – A Good Night's Sleep

"Where were you this morning, Pay?" Lauren asked as the girls stretched out on one of the mats in the stadium.

"Yeah," Kaylie agreed, "we missed you at breakfast."

"Sorry," Payson answered vaguely, sensing the reprimand from the team captain. "I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep, so I went to work out in the gym and lost track of time."

Kaylie nodded, her eyes flashing briefly with concern. "You didn't work too hard, did you, Payson?" she asked, her own insecurities and fears projecting onto her fellow gymnast.

"Of course not," Payson assured her. "It was probably just because no one else was there." That seemed to satisfy Kaylie, and so the topic was dropped as they began their usual conditioning.

"Payson, I want to see your floor," Marty called across the gym, glancing briefly down at his clipboard.

Payson moved quickly from her friends to their coach, giving her muscles one last stretch as she went. She moved to her starting corner, reminding herself of all the things Sasha had said to her earlier – about extending her lines and tensing her muscles, but mostly about telling a story.

It was the reason she had missed breakfast – she had been sitting in a meditation garden thinking about what the song meant to her. She hadn't just picked the song at random, she had picked it because she loved it and because when she listened to it, she liked to close her eyes and imagine the words brought to life in images of beauty that seemed otherworldly. Sasha had described the song as a prayer, but she disagreed with him. It was a song of praise, not worship, as each line described the beauty available through each sense before uttering thanks to whatever lay behind its creation.

_"Jai guru deva,"_ she whispered to herself as she raised her arms above her head. As she heard her cue, each was lowered slowly to her side and then brought to her front in a graceful gesture before she bounded into her first tumble, her mind for once on something other than her next skill. She moved around the space, her power married with her beauty for perhaps the first time in her gymnastics career. As she let the silent words paint their picture in her mind, she felt, for the first time in a long time, that she could be beautiful, even if she wasn't right now.

And as she raised her arms back above her head in the same position she started with, she thought of Sasha one last time, tensing her stomach, pulling back her shoulders, lifting her chin, and extending each limb. She smiled timidly, feeling a great sense of accomplishment in her completion of the routine. Beam and floor had always been her weak points due to their inclusion of the more dance like elements that made her uncomfortable. This time she actually felt like she had pulled off the dance element of her routine and that she wasn't just going through the motions required of her.

"Payson, that was excellent," Marty congratulated actually applauding her for it. "There were a few clumsy moments," he added, never one to simply offer a compliment, "and you need to aim to be more graceful in your arm movements.

"But other than that it was beautiful," he finished lowly, his voice touched with awe. "Truly beautiful, Payson."

Payson cringed a little at Marty's critique, but overall, felt genuinely content with her performance. Grace and elegance had always been her greatest challenges when it came to gymnastics, and in some ways her downfall. But today her routine had been closer to perfect than it had ever been before and she felt proud of what she had accomplished despite the small flaws in her execution. Not that she wouldn't push herself to do better – Payson would never settle for anything less than perfect – and she would simply have to practice those arm movements until they looked as graceful as those of Kaylie or Lauren.

But she felt confident in her ability to do so. Maybe not right away, but it seemed more achievable now. Perhaps it was simply the fact that she had been able to dance in front of another person without feeling like the incredible hulk, and so she was now freed a little of some of her insecurities. Or maybe it was because Sasha had made her feel pretty when acting like a dork and dressed in mismatched gym attire.

Whatever it was, the smile continued to linger on her face throughout practice, and every one of her routines benefited from whatever quality Sasha had been able to imbued her with. He had achieved something that years of critiques and desperate training attempts had not. He had gotten Payson Keeler to perform with a smile.

And even if Payson thought otherwise, it was beautiful.

* * *

"What are you doing here, Belov?" Marty asked as spied his former rival obviously waiting for him the stadium foyer. He waved off his fellow coaches – indicating that they were to take the team back to the hotel while he dealt with the interloper – before turning on the younger man with a suspicious glare.

"I just want to talk," Sasha assured him, raising his hands in a plea of surrender.

"You mean like last time when you tried to break my nose with your forehead?" Marty asked scathingly, his features aching at the memory of his last interaction with Sasha.

"I was thinking more of the time I tried to break my hand with your face," Sasha replied jokingly, trying to ease off the tension, but failing miserably.

"Look, I'm sorry, Marty," he offered weakly. "I shouldn't have hit you . . . repeatedly. And I probably shouldn't have said some of the things I said about you to the press. And I definitely shouldn't have gone around telling people you had Chlamydia. Or that your mother practiced the dark arts and voodoo, and this may or may not have involved sex with a small cow or large goat. And that you were born with both sets of genitalia."

"You said _what_ about my mother?" Marty barked.

"It doesn't matter. It's all in the past," Sasha waved off vaguely. "I'll forgive you for sleeping with my girlfriend. And you'll forgive me for all the vicious rumours I've started about you over the years."

"Right," Marty replied sardonically, realizing this was about as close to an apology as he was ever going to get from Sasha Belov. "Well, if that's all then . . ." he said, moving on his way until Sasha suddenly reached out and stopped him from going further.

"I wanted to talk to you about Payson Keeler," he said seriously.

Marty's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the name of his prized gymnasts. "What about Payson?" he asked suspiciously, his brain jumping straight to the worst conclusion. "So help me, Sasha, if you try anything with her . . ." he warned vaguely, his stance large and threatening.

Sasha pulled his fingers through his short blonde hair in frustration, this conversation going exactly where he thought it would go. He had tried to smooth things over with Marty – heck, he'd just gone and apologized for what he still considered pretty justifiable behaviour on his part – in order to get his point across more easily, but one conversation didn't change eight years of antagonizing and backstabbing. It didn't change the way that they felt about each other, or all the things that had gone so terribly wrong in their long forgotten friendship. If he were in Marty's position, he'd probably be warning him away too, only he'd be doing it much louder and with some sort of weapon, because unlike Marty, he was far more aware of Payson's appeal as a woman, and not merely a gymnast.

"She's not even your type," Marty spat angrily.

"Really?" Sasha asked sarcastically, his temper getting the best of him for the moment. "I'm surprised to hear that I have I type at all, and even more so that it doesn't included Payson Keeler. I was under the impression that she was every man's type."

Marty glared at Sasha's reply, not seeming to find any humour in his sarcastic retort. "I'm giving you five seconds to tell me what this is about, Belov, and then I'm leaving."

"Fine," Sasha relented, putting Payson's future ahead of his resentment for Marty Walsh. "It's about Payson's gymnastics. Where she is now, I don't think she'll be able to beat Genji Cho." He put all his cards out on the table and desperately hoped that Marty would overlook the source of the warning.

Marty scoffed. "Is this some kind of ploy, Belov?" he asked. "There is nothing wrong with Payson's gymnastics. Obviously you haven't seen her floor routine lately."

"I have," Sasha replied gently, "and she's perfect.

"She'll have at least a tenth over Genji Cho and triple that over her next closest rival," he continued more strongly, "but so what? China will just increase Cho's start value to compensate. With Payson's body type and the losses after her injury, she's reaching her ceiling. She can't increase her degree of difficulty any further without taking some major risks and probably losing points in execution."

"And here I was thinking you were the king of risk taking," Marty muttered snidely.

"Calculated risks," Sasha corrected smugly. He immediately forced his expression into something more grave hoping to get across just how serious this was for Payson. "The risks aren't worth the reward," he explained. "She couldn't gain more than five hundredths of a point and could risk re-injuring her back even worse than before."

"Why do you care so much, Belov?" Marty frowned. "Why are you suddenly helping me?"

"Payson," Sasha answered gently, shrugging his shoulders vaguely. "She's the better gymnast. Genji Cho might have all the advantages of her smaller stature and military like training, but Payson _is _the better gymnast. She's one of the best I've ever seen, and it would be a tragedy not to see her win the gold in 2012. It's what she deserves."

"And what do you suggest?" Marty asked, softening a little at Sasha's sincerity.

"Adding artistic elements to her routines to bolster her scores," he suggested. "They can be worth just as much as an extra half-twist without the risk of injury or any damage to her execution."

Marty shook his head and said, "You clearly have no idea what kind of gymnast Payson is, Sasha. She's not like those other girls. She's a power gymnast, and we just don't have the time to suddenly change that."

"I don't want to change who she is," Sasha protested. "This is simply what she needs to win. If she could just combine her beauty with her brawn, she could be brilliant."

Marty sighed, reluctantly admitting to Sasha the real source of the problem. "She doesn't see herself that way," he answered quietly. "Believe me, Sasha, I've tried everything, but she's stubborn. She's all about strength and power, not grace and beauty."

"Not stubborn," Sasha answered gently. "Scared." He thought back to her reluctance earlier that morning and realized that this was what it was really about. Payson didn't think that she was capable of beauty and she was afraid of failure. It was as though she couldn't even see how beautiful she really was.

"Have you ever thought about trying ballet?" he suggested.

Marty's eye narrowed. "How would that help?"

"Well, it's almost like gymnastics exact opposite," he explained, "and if she can master the basics there, I think she'll feel a lot more confident in her own abilities.

"Even if it doesn't help her become a more artistic gymnast," he continued as he saw Marty's uncertainty, "the skills she would learn could be beneficial to her execution, at least on floor and beam. There's value in it."

"Sasha, we're less than a year out from the Olympics," Marty argued uneasily, his resistance flailing. "We can't afford to waste time on some trivial pursuit. She doesn't have the time to waste on ballet."

"Then maybe you're the one that doesn't know Payson," Sasha scoffed. "I guarantee that Payson will be staying late to make up for any time she 'wastes on ballet'. She's exactly the gymnast I was at her age, although without all the messy personal stuff to distract her."

"So that's what this is really about," Marty mused aloud and crossed his arms over his chest with a smug expression. "A stroke to your ego as you live vicariously through her."

Sasha shrugged his shoulders and turned away, already making his way out of the foyer. "Make of it what you will," he said, waving him off. He'd let Marty believe what he wanted to believe, just so long as he did what he asked.

"Sasha!" Marty called after him, causing him to pause in his steps but not to turn around. "I meant what I said before."

Sasha nodded, understanding what Marty was implying. "Then you better be more careful with her," he suggested. "She's far too beautiful to be left to her own devices."

And with one last word of warning from either side, the two rivals parted ways. Marty wondered whether in some strange way, history would end up repeating itself and whether Payson would be caught between them in the same way that MJ had.

Only this time, he found himself rooting for Sasha . . . just a little.

~ to be continued ~

Marty/Sasha confrontation - now that was fun to write. Especially Sasha's perspective on things and the numerous rumours he's spread over the years in order to get back at Marty.

* * *

**Notes:**

Across the Universe - The Beatles (1969, Lennon & McCartney). You should seriously read these lyrics if you don't already know the song. John Lennon considered the lyrics to be the best thing he ever wrote and they are beautifully poetic - 'words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup . . .'.

* * *

**Translations:**


	4. The Conquering Hero

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Conquering Hero

Payson grinned as the medal was placed securely around her neck. She had done especially well at Worlds this year – team gold, four individual gold medals and an unexpected bronze on beam. The rest of Team USA hadn't been too shabby either. Lauren had gotten the silver on beam (both of them beaten out by Genji Cho), and Emily a bronze on bars. Kelly Parker had finished second for her vault and Kaylie, despite being just off the podium for the individual events, won the all-around bronze. The boys had also taken their share of medals, although only one gold medal (the team gold) for all their efforts.

Sasha Belov had made a clean sweep of the individual competition, taking gold on every apparatus and in the all-around. If anyone had dared to question whether he was ready to be back competing, they had their answer now. He was truly back and better than ever, and so long as nothing unforeseen happened between now and 2012, it would be the same results at the Olympics in London.

There was a loud cheer from the crowd as she raised her head and she smiled at their response. The commentators had described her floor routine as inspiring, and she'd somehow managed to connect with the crowd despite . . . well, herself. Payson wasn't used to be the crowd favourite – that was most definitely Kaylie and probably Emily to a lesser degree with her underdog status – and had even accepted that the crowd weren't always happy to see her on the podium. She had begun Worlds with her floor routine, and from that moment the crowd had been behind her all the way. She was surprised to find that it was actually kind of nice to have the crowd on side at these things.

They moved from the awards ceremony to a press conference largely consisting of platitudes about how great everyone had done and how much she appreciated the support of her team. While she meant a good many of them, they always seemed so false knowing that there were so many athletes who said the same without meaning it. There were a few questions about some apparent love interest she had, but it was easy enough to brush off when she hadn't even a clue who they were talking about. There was a very good chance that her agent was behind the sudden rumour, and so she tried not to take her annoyance out on the press and 'shoot the messenger' so to speak.

Regardless, it was a relief to be getting back to their hotel afterwards. The remainder of the questions had been focused on her impressive performance on floor and beam, and what had lay behind the changes. Payson had kept mum on the matter, which probably hadn't helped her with the press and made the conference all the more gruelling before it finally drew to an end as she was allowed to leave with the rest of her team. For some reason none of them looked nearly as put out as she did, but that wasn't unusual.

"Keeler-sama," a voice called as she entered the hotel lobby. She turned to face the concierge running towards her with a large bouquet of flowers in soft shades of pink, purple, and cream. "Keeler-sama, these came for you."

"Oh?" Payson asked in surprise. "Are you sure?" she checked, although she was pretty certain that there could be no other Payson Keeler at the hotel.

"Of course, Keeler-sama," the concierge assured her with a quick bow before he went away. Payson smiled shyly, lifting the blooms to her nose to smell the sweet scent.

"Looks like _someone_ has a secret admirer," Lauren teased playfully.

"Maybe it's that Duncan guy they were talking about," Kaylie suggested with an excited gasp.

"More likely MJ trying to generate a buzz," Payson scoffed cynically.

"Whoever they are, they have excellent taste in flowers," Emily suggested. "Those tulips are gorgeous and there's not even a trace of wilting." The three girls turned to her in surprise, and Emily shrugged in reply. "My mother had a job at a florist for like six months. The owner was nice. I picked up a thing or two.

"So who's it from?" Emily asked. "There's got to be a card somewhere. Nobody could send a bouquet this nice and not leave a card."

As predicted, there was a small white envelope nestled between the flowers. Payson felt her heart thrumming with anticipation as she carefully opened the envelope, slipping out the card. She held her breath as she opened it and a smile pulled to her lips as she discovered the identity of the sender.

"It's from Sasha Belov," she told her friends brightly, flushing coyly. "He just wanted to give his congratulations."

The girls squealed in unison, gushing once again about how wonderful Sasha was. They couldn't think of any other athlete who would go to the trouble of offering his congratulations in such a beautiful manner. The flowers suddenly seemed all the more wonderful for their sender, and not merely to Payson.

She handed around the card for her friends to gush over. Sasha seemed to understand that the card would not be for her eyes only, and so there was nothing untoward in it that might give things away to her friends – not that there was anything _to_ give away. It was simple and to the point, and almost non-descript except for a few subtle allusions and his inspirational final words.

_Congratulations, Payson!  
I didn't doubt you for a second.  
Enjoy your night  
and save a dance for me._

_You never cease to amaze me._

_Sasha_

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Payson groaned in frustration as she ran her fingers through her hair trying to undo whatever god forsaken mess she had made of it. She had made some attempts at makeup to go with her suddenly unmanageable hair, but those too had been undone with a cloth swiped across her face.

"Payson, hurry up!" Lauren called from the other side, pounding on the bathroom door. "Other people need to use the bathroom, you know."

"I'm done," Payson answered reluctantly, shaking her head one last time at her reflection before undoing the latch and opening the door.

"Are you okay, Pay?" Lauren asked, glancing at her friend with genuine concern. "You were in there for a while. There's nothing wrong, right?"

Payson frowned, internally debating over whether she should share her thoughts with Lauren. She needed help, but Lauren wouldn't have been her first choice – not by a long shot. Kaylie would have been ideal to have around right now, closely followed by Emily, but all she had was Lauren and she wasn't sure how likely Lauren was to be helpful to her current plight.

She sighed heavily before finally coming out with it, "I wanted to look nice for tonight but I can't seem to do anything with my hair and you know I'm useless with make up.

"And I'm pretty sure I look like a total freak in this dress," she finished scathingly and threw herself down on her bed, crossing her arms defensively over her chest in preparation for Lauren's reply.

"So that's what this is about," Lauren said with a sinister grin that only widened as Payson sent her a questioning look. "You want to look nice for Sasha Belov."

Payson shrugged dismissively, but Lauren stared her down until she had no choice but to admit her true motivations. "Why didn't you just say something earlier?" Lauren asked dramatically. "I can help you look totally cute for Sasha. It's not like you're hideously disfigured or something."

"Thanks," Payson answered dryly, not entirely sure that not being hideously disfigured was a compliment.

"And I like your dress," Lauren continued. "I mean, it's nothing I'd wear, but it suits you, Pay."

"Thanks," Payson said a little more surely and smoothed out the navy blue chiffon skirt of her dress. "Mom picked it."

"I figured," Lauren nodded as she quickly did her own make up in the bathroom mirror before she got started on Payson. "She always had a great eye for colour.

"I'm guessing you want something subtle and simple," she suggested once she returned carrying a large collection of make up. "Just the no-make-up make-up look, right?"

"Uh, right," Payson agreed as Lauren began to pull back her hair, humming along under her breath. Payson groaned aloud as the song reached its chorus and she began to recognize the tune. "Could you please stop humming the music to 'Popular' as you do this?" she asked her friend as politely as she could manage. "It's really not helping with my self-esteem here."

"I thought you'd appreciate the sentiment," Lauren shrugged. "Elphie gets the handsome prince in the end, remember?"

"Only after years of persecution and loneliness," Payson countered. "Not exactly the ideal love story.

"And this isn't a love story, either," she added quickly and adamantly. "I'm not trying to 'bag' Sasha or anything like that. I just don't want to look ridiculous when I go to thank him for the flowers."

"Of course," Lauren agreed brightly, her disbelief apparent. "What shoes did you bring?" she asked, benevolently changing the subject. "Do you have those cute little peep-toe ones with the bows?"

"Um-hmm," Payson answered, wincing as Lauren tugged particularly hard on her hair. Shoes were a particular weakness for her and she'd brought her three favourite pairs with her to Tokyo just in case an opportunity presented to wear them. The peep-toes were a dark navy spotted with white polka dots and decorated with matching bows. They were also four-inch stilettos, but Payson was an expert gymnast, so balancing in high heels had never been a problem for her.

Lauren moved on to her make-up, subtle as promised, using a soft brown around her eyes and a light pink on her lips. "I have the perfect earrings to match that dress," she said and darted over to her suitcase to find them. After a few moments she pulled out a pair of dangling pearls that would nicely finish off Payson's ensemble along with her heals.

"Are you ready to go?" Payson asked as she pulled on her shoes.

"You go ahead," Lauren insisted. "I just want to finish up. Oh, use my clutch," she added, directing Payson to a metallic silver clutch on top of her suitcase. "It goes with the earrings."

"Thanks, Lo," she said.

"No worries," Lauren called, breaking into song as Payson left the room. _"And though you protest, your disinterest. I know clandestinely . . ."_

Payson groaned and made a quick exit.

The night's festivities were being held at a gorgeous ballroom opposite the hotel. There was already a crowd of paparazzi waiting outside, which made Payson all the more grateful for letting Lauren do her make up. MJ would probably kill her if she'd shown up without Lauren's intervention.

She felt reasonably confident in her appearance now that it was all done. Lauren had pulled her hair back in a tight, smooth ponytail that hung down her back. Her dress was a dark navy, Grecian style halter with an empire waist and fell just past her knees in layers of chiffon and silk. The little clutch Lauren had lent her matched nicely with the earrings and with the bands of silver patterning around her neck and just below her bust. Her shoes completed the look nicely.

She got a few calls from the press as she entered the gauntlet – a rehash of questions from earlier that day – and stopped so they could take pictures and ended up telling them about her shoes mostly because she had no idea where she had gotten her dress.

"Can we get a few shots of the two o' you together?" one of the photographers asked, stopping her before she made her way inside the hall. The other photographers quickly voiced their agreement as Payson turned to see who they were referring to.

"It's up to you," Sasha told her with a charming smile. He was looking handsome and clean-cut in a tidy suit, and his chin still smooth from the competition. "Personally, I consider it an honour to be photographed with such a beautiful woman."

Payson smiled, flushing at the compliment. "I don't mind," she told him coyly, ducking her head. Because of that she missed the warm smile he sent her that suddenly had the photographers clamouring to get a picture.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and she leaned gently into his side as he smiled down on her. Even in her favourite heels, she barely reached his shoulder and she felt almost painfully small in his arms. He squeezed her waist, making her stomach suddenly knot and explode into butterflies in the same instant, and her 'media-dahling' smile momentarily drop from her face. Once the press was done with them, they were able to move away, but Sasha did not release her, his hand still pressed to the small of her back as he guided her inside.

"You look lovely this evening, Payson," he told her once they were safely inside and away from any eavesdropping media.

"Y-you too," Payson answered shyly. "That colour suits you."

He glanced down at his shirt – a lovely pinstriped lilac number under a grey suit jacket – and made a small grimace. "Apparently," he muttered in a disdainful tone that made her smile more naturally and eased some of her awkwardness.

"Thank you for the flowers, by the way," she added as Sasha eased her towards the bar and ordered a couple of drinks. "They're beautiful. I only wish I could bring them back with me."

"I really should have thought of that," he realized. "Next time I'll just get you chocolates."

"There'll be a next time?" Payson asked, a pleased smile pulling to her lips.

"Well, I assume you do plan to retain your title, Miss. Keeler," he teased playfully, leaning against the bar. "Otherwise I'll have to google somebody else's favourite flower."

"Oh, well, if I must for your sake, Sasha," she offered graciously. "However, your sources are unreliable."

"How so?"

"My favourite flowers are daisies," she told him, watching as his face fell, losing some of his smug charm. "Gerberas in particular."

"Dammit, Payson," he frowned, admonishing her teasingly, "you need to get yourself a more reliable fan base. Or maybe just randomly work a few details into interviews.

"You could be talking about some gymnastics oddity," he suggested as their drinks arrived, "and just randomly drop in a penchant for Belgian chocolate."

"Orange," she corrected and gave him a pitying look. She took a quick sip of her drink as they made their way together across the room to a small table on the edge of the dance floor. "What's in this?"

"It's a Shirley Temple," he answered her, groaning when she continued to give him curious looks. "It's supposed to be your favourite drink. It's grenadine and lemonade."

"Oh. It's nice," she consoled.

He shook his head, laughing lightly at his own failure. "That'll teach me," he chuckled. "My attempts at smoothness did nothing but reveal my true ineptness."

Payson giggled in return, almost embarrassed by the ridiculously feminine noise escaping her lips. "I really hope that wasn't your A-game, Belov," she teased.

"You'll know when I'm pulling my A-game," he said lowly, winking cheesily and causing Payson to laugh brightly once again.

"So what else did you learn about me during your fascinating but horribly inaccurate search online?" she asked him.

"Well I assume the basics are right," he began. "Age, gender, place of birth, parents and that stuff. One site said you had a little brother named Jamie but I'm pretty sure that was wrong."

"Very," Payson nodded. "Did they mention Becca?"

"I think so, but they couldn't seem to agree on the age gap between you two," he said and continued with further information he had garnered. "Scared of spiders and heights? I know the latter is obviously wrong, but the first is believable."

"Actually it's the heights that's true, well, more true," she answered. "I don't like looking off really tall buildings and I'm a nervous flyer. Sucks for being an elite gymnast," she joked.

"All those five-star, sky-scrapping hotel rooms and international travel perks must be hell for you," he teased good-naturedly. They continued to laugh together as they compared notes between Payson's horribly inaccurate fan base and the truth, as Payson knew it, with Sasha empathizing by sharing stories of some of his own more humorous incidents with fans and the media.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked as he looked over towards the dance floor that had steadily filled with people as they talked. "You did promise me, remember."

"I don't think I did," Payson frowned and bit her lips nervously. As much as she loved the thought of dancing with Sasha, it didn't fully counteract her long-standing aversion to dancing in front of other people.

"You did so implicitly by accepting my flowers," he argued smoothly. "I promise I won't bite," he added with a wink and held his hand out towards her in a gallant gesture.

Payson rolled her eyes at her own weakness. It was just too hard to argue against Sasha Belov, especially when what he was asking for was the very thing she'd been anticipating all evening. She felt some of her reservations slip away as Sasha sent her an eager, endearing smile that made her feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

"One dance," she warned him pointedly as he took her hand in his and led her out to the floor. Luckily a slow song had begun to play, so she wouldn't have to embarrass herself too much by trying to keep up with something fast paced.

"Just one," Sasha agreed, "but I bet you like it so much you keep me here all night."

"In your dreams," she muttered lowly.

"Maybe," he shrugged with a mysterious smile as he pulled her close and cradled her small frame in his arms. "We should have another dance session before you go," he suggested in a low voice, his lips right near her ear. "I'll bring the tunes this time."

"Nothing from the nineties," she warned him.

"You're the one with Spice Girls on her iPod," he countered.

"Well, it's a date, then?" she suggested shyly, glancing up to meet his silvery blue eyes.

"A date," he agreed warmly, meeting her gaze.

~ to be continued ~

I'm hoping I got Lauren right here. I've decided to translate her scheming into matchmaking because I think - provided that she approves of the pairing and they're not going after the same guy - that Lauren is a romantic at heart. Or at least she will be in this story.

Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Notes:**

The lyrics Lauren sings are obviously from the song **Popular** from **Wicked**. Seriously not the most inspiring song to be hearing while somebody performs you a makeover, right? The likes of _"And even in your case, and it's the toughest case I've yet to face"_ and _"When I see depressing creatures, with unprepossessing features"_ are kinda a blow to your self-esteem_._

I was originally going to put the last line in Sasha's note in Romanian, but realized it was a bit soon in their 'relationship' to start throwing down Romanian sentiments. I shall save such things for later I think once they've established a bit of a rapport.

Finally, there are some pictures to go with this chapter on my livejournal account, which I've linked as my homepage so you can head over there if you want to see what Payson's dress is supposed to look like. Chapters are the same, so no need to do anything more than scroll to the bottom of the entry.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Keeler-sama_: -sama is a Japanese honorific attached to the name of a person with high honour or prestige. Honestly, I just love honorifics and I always feel slightly put out by the fact that English has more or less deserted all of its honorifics.


	5. Kings and Queens

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Kings and Queens

_Vanity Fair. November Issue, 2011. – Web Content  
October 2011 _

Image left: Sasha and Payson entering the Championship function together, all smiles for the camera. Image right: Sasha and Payson on a quiet street in Tokyo, Japan.

**Romance in the Air for King and Queen of Gymnastics?**

_When photographers in Tokyo, Japan asked Women's Gymnastics World Champion Payson Marie Keeler, 18 (USA) and Men's Gymnastics World Champion Alexandru (Sasha) Dmitrievich Belov, 26 (ENG) to pose for some commemorative shots outside the Gymnastics Championship reception they got more than they bargained for. Sources say the gymnastics pair seemed very familiar with one another and that the normally standoffish Sasha Belov was more than happy to stand for photos with Payson Keeler, even smiling for the camera (although these smiles seemed for the most part to be directed at a certain female gymnast)._

_Sasha and Payson are also said to have spent the majority of their night together, sharing several dances and sequestering themselves in quiet corners to talk. Many of their competitors commented on how close the two appeared and speculated over the possibility of a relationship blossoming between the two champions. One source jokingly suggested that the two would produce the perfect, blonde-haired, blue-eyed gymnastics baby. They look stunning together in pictures (as seen above) and would be the most attractive sports power couple yet._

_If that weren't enough to get people talking, Sasha and Payson were seen together the following morning having a cosy breakfast together at a street café before jet setting back to their respective nations. The pair looked very romantic, sitting close and sharing meaningful looks. Their body language – according to expert, Victor Humshaw – suggests attraction and intimacy._

_Since securing the title at last years Gymnastics World Championship, Payson Keeler's name has been linked to several prominent male athletes but none of these rumours have amounted to more than that. Sasha Belov, as anyone who hasn't been living under a rock for the last decade knows, has been in several highly publicised relationships with some very big names from a variety of fields, but these have all been short lived. Only time will tell if there is something real developing between this very talented pair._

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_IBM – Boulder, Colorado. _

Mark Keeler had always been a very proud parent. He loved his girls for all they were worth and celebrated each and every achievement, even those that seemed to pale in comparison to his eldest's long-term goal. He still remembered calling everyone he knew when Payson said her first word (unsurprisingly 'do that' after seeing an aerial circus trick) and the screeds of film he'd gone through when Becca started walking.

He was amazingly proud of his eldest daughter, even without the added fact that she was at the top of her chosen field. Of course, like any proud parent, Mark couldn't help but brag about his wonderful children on occasion.

"Saw your girl on TV," his colleagues congratulated as they collected around the coffee machine during a tea break. "She did that . . . what they call the one with the . . ." a colleague said, waving his hand around vaguely in circles.

"The tumbling pass?" Mark suggested, mostly because you could never go wrong with a tumbling pass. It sounded sufficiently 'gymnastic-y' and technical to satisfy most people, and he knew that Payson had at least one tumbling pass somewhere in her repertoire so he was covered just in case someone with a little gymnastics know-how joined the conversation.

Brent Wilson, the one who commented on the 'one with the . . .' was not someone with gymnastics know-how so he just nodded his agreement and complimented Payson's tumbling pass.

"I missed the start," complained a woman from the accounts department. "Everyone keeps talking about the floor routine, and I have no idea what they're talking about."

"You missed the best part," replied his boss' secretary, an older woman called Vivienne with greying brown hair. "I was in tears by the end of it. It was like she was telling a story with her body. I've never seen her look so beautiful, Mark," she added warmly.

Mark beamed at the compliment, kindly refraining from replying that his little girl was always beautiful and that the rest of the world had just been slow to pick it up. Those who had been fortunate enough to see Payson's floor routine agreed with Vivienne's sentiment. She'd been almost ethereal, moving across the floor with such grace that it moved a whole audience to tears.

He smiled a good bye and headed back to his desk, thinking he might call Kim to tell her how well Payson's performance had been received. Perhaps they could even compare notes; he was sure that The Rock would be abuzz with news of the victory, with parents clamouring around his wife for special tips on how they could get their own daughters to the same level. As if they really had anything to do with it. Payson was an unstoppable force in everything she did, and once she put her mind to something the way she did gymnastics, she was guaranteed to succeed.

"Oh, Mark, just the person I wanted to see," greeted one of his female colleagues, a young sales assistant from the floor below.

"How can I help you, Kath?" he answered kindly, sitting up attentively in his seat.

"Well," Kath replied turning suddenly coy, "I just wanted to know if it was true." She leaned forward eager as her voice lowered to a hush whisper, as though imparting secrets for the Resistance.

Mark frowned. "If what was true?"

"Well, about Payson," Kath replied. "Is she really engaged to Sasha Belov?"

"What?" he spluttered, nearly jumping out of his seat. "Where'd you hear something like that? She's not even dating," he insisted a little louder than he intended.

"Oh," Kath said look both relieved and disappointed. "So they're just like . . . what?" she asked, waiting for him to fill in the blank. "Is it just a casual thing or like early days?"

"There's nothing going on," Mark practically growled. He did not like what Kath was insinuating about his little girl, and the look in his eyes said as much. She nearly tripped in her speedy retreat from his desk, looking properly chastised for her inquisitiveness.

Mark groaned in frustration.

Definitely time to call Kim.

* * *

_Keeler Residence – Boulder, Colorado_

"Mark. Kim. I want to assure you both I 'ave this situation completely under control," MJ Martin explained professionally. She looked at them both seriously, her expression completely cool and calculated, and ready to handle whatever life threw at her.

"What situation?" Payson complained loudly. "There's no situation here. Nothing happened. We were just hanging out. We're like colleagues," she added defensively. "Dad hangs out with colleagues all the time and it doesn't suddenly turn into a National Inquiry."

MJ smiled gently at her naivety, giving her the sort of look you'd give a small child – a look that said 'hush now, little one, and let the grown-ups speak'. She turned back to Mark and Kim with a reassuring smile. "I've already begun damage control an' – "

"What damage?" Payson interrupted, hating the fact that they were talking about her as though she wasn't even in the room. "I bet this is doing _wonders_ for my career," she muttered sarcastically. "Think of the _buzz_, MJ. Oh think of the buzz."

The look that MJ sent her would have been enough to chill her to the bone if she wasn't already so fired up about things. Her manager's smile tightened a little as she spoke, but at least she was finally speaking to her directly, so Payson considered it something of an improvement. "This is what we in the business call 'negative publicity', love," MJ told her condescendingly. "Sasha Belov is not the kind of person we want associated with your image."

"Why not?" Payson goaded. "He's a successful athlete and he's the first person that comes to mind when you think of gymnastics. He's like the biggest celebrity in gymnastics right now, and I'd think the association would be one you of all people would appreciate, MJ."

MJ gave her another cool look, which Payson met with snarling expression. They appeared to have reached some sort of stalemate, and they eyed one another carefully as they planned their next move.

"I don't know why everyone's making such a big deal about us having breakfast for gods sakes," Payson muttered tersely, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Payson, he's nearly twice your age," her father protested, her mother's hand on his arm the only thing keeping him in his seat at the moment.

"He's twenty-six," Payson replied drolly. "And why does it matter?

"Why won't anyone believe me when I say nothing's going on?" she asked, laughing exasperatedly. "We stayed in the same hotel and we happened to be at the gym together," she said, spinning a believable tale that would hopefully get her off the hook. "That's why we were having breakfast together. It was just a coincidence."

"And what about at the reception?" Kim asked suspiciously. Her daughter could pass off the breakfast as coincidence, but she couldn't deny the gentle look in his eye or the radiant smile beaming off her own features. "That doesn't explain all the time you spent together."

Payson sighed in frustration. "He was just being nice," she defended on Sasha's behalf. "That's it. Nothing insidious. Those stupid magazines were just reading too much into it."

"I have to agree with Payson there," MJ added, appeasing her parents' concerned looks. "I know Sasha Belov," she told them calmly. "Payson's not his type."

Payson stood quickly, throwing her hands in the air. It was the last straw. Even when MJ seemed like she was on her side, she was still against her. "Well, seeing as my presence isn't necessary here, I'm going to head off to my room so you three can continue your discussion of me as though I'm not even there," she told them all dramatically. "I'll save you the trouble of pretending." She stormed out of the room, knowing one of them would follow and really hoping it would be her mother whom she currently considered the lesser of three evils.

"Payson," MJ said knocking lightly on her door as Payson let out a painful groan and buried her head in her pillow. MJ smiled tightly shut the door behind her and treaded carefully across the room so she could sit herself on the end of the bed. "Payson, you don't understand – " she began, but Payson cut her off, sitting up abruptly in her bed.

"No I understand _perfectly_, MJ," she countered, practically hissing under her breath. "This isn't about me. This is about you and Sasha, and probably some sort of passive aggressive way of getting back at him for something that happened years ago." She smiled smugly at the shock and embarrassment that flashed briefly across MJ's features before the Englishwoman could recover her normally cool and collected expression.

"It's not about that," MJ promised, her look more solemn and sincere than Payson had ever seen her before. "Sasha Belov isn't someone you should be getting involved with, Payson. Especially romantically."

Payson rolled her eyes dramatically. "Why does it matter?" she muttered. "I'm not his type, remember?"

MJ looked away guiltily. "I lied," she admitted reluctantly. "As much as I hate to say it, you're exactly his type, Payson. You couldn't be more perfect for him if you tried, but he's no good for you.

"I know Sasha," she continued sincerely, "an' he's _so_ wrong for you, love. He's possessive and single-minded and selfish and he has no sense of anything outside of gymnastics. He's the kind of man you could lose yourself in, an' not in a good way.

"I'm only trying to protect you, love," she insisted. "It's for your own good."

Payson's glare softened just a little. "It's not necessary, MJ," she said kindly. "I'm a big girl.

"You're all making this huge deal out of nothing," she continued tiredly. "It was just a brief encounter and it doesn't go anywhere from there. Nothing is going to happen and there's nothing there I need protection from."

MJ looked at her almost gently as she took her hand in her own. "Take it from someone who knows Sasha Belov," she said, her smile a mixture of knowingness and defeat.

"If he wants you, he'll make something happen."

~ to be continued ~

I'm sure some of you are a little disappointed that you didn't get to see Sasha and Payson's second dance session, but it didn't seem to add much to the story or move the plot forward, so I went this way instead. The next chapter will be jumping forward a bit, but I think you'll all like where it's heading.

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**Notes:**

You can check out the LJ version if you're interested, but only because I've set up the article quite well there.

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**Translations:**


	6. A Lesson From Nobokov's Book

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI or Ralph Lauren.

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Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

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Just a Number – A Lesson From Nabokov's Book

_Sasha's Apartment – Canary Wharf, London.  
November 2011._

"What are you doing looking all _mopey_, Sasha?" asked his best friend cum manager, Howard Bryson, with a mock serious look that clashed with his posh business attire and high British accent.

"I'm not 'mopey'," Sasha insisted, a sarcastic lilt to his tone. He didn't look up from his position, bent over his knees in a straight-backed chair. "I'm just . . . thinking."

"About the girl?" Howard suggested and a grin pulled at his lips as he came upon the source of Sasha's muted mood. He always found such great pleasure in teasing Sasha about these sorts of things, whether true or not.

"Yes," Sasha admitted defiantly, raising his head to send a glare at his best friend. "And please stop calling her 'the girl'. It makes me seem like some creepy old man with a child fetish. She's eighteen."

"Barely," Howard answered with a shrug. "Would it make a difference if she wasn't?"

Sasha sighed, shaking his head reluctantly. "Probably not."

Howard snorted a chuckle, laughing as his friend/charge's out of character behaviour. "I haven't seen you so knotted over a girl – forgive me – lady," he slotted in after a displeased glare from Sasha, "since that whole sordid, fiasco with MJ. What is it about this one that's got you so out of sorts, old boy?"

Sasha breathed another sigh, running his fingers exasperatedly through his short, blonde hair. "I don't know," he sighed. "I just can't seem to get her out of my head.

"And mostly it's about the bloody gymnastics thing," he added in a louder voice touched with displeasure and frustration. "I mean, why do I even care?"

For a moment, Howard almost looked sympathetic to Sasha's plight, but he quickly negated it by offering some perfectly common sense advice in a bored tone. "If that's what's getting to you, then deal with it," he said plainly. "You need to be focussed right now. We're not long out from the English Championship, and while it's all formalities at this point, you can't let yourself slip – we don't want anyone questioning your return or your place on the team," he intoned seriously, making sure that Sasha understood the implications of his lack of focus.

"If you're so worried about her gymnastics, then call bloody Marty Walsh and see what he's doing about it," he finished blandly.

Sasha's face cringed into revulsion at Howard's very reasonable suggestion. "I'd rather stick to my avoidance strategy when it comes to Marty Walsh," he said coolly. "It seems to be working."

"Seems to," Howard agreed with a shrug, "except that he gets to see your little gymnast on a daily basis and knows exactly where she stands in her gymnastics. He's the only person in the position to give you the information needed to get you out of this damned funk, short of crossing the Atlantic Ocean and storming in there to see for yourself."

"That's it," Sasha agreed, his face breaking into a rare smile as he jumped out of his seat and clapped a hand on Howard's shoulder.

"So you'll call Marty and move on from this little obsession of yours?" Howard asked hopefully.

"Of course not," Sasha replied and waved off the suggestion. "I wouldn't trust Marty Walsh's opinion on today's weather forecast, let alone something as important as this.

"No, I'll go to Boulder," he concluded simply with a short, determinative nod. "That way I can see for myself and help her if need be."

Howard shook his head, rolling his eyes at Sasha's single-minded behaviour. "Sasha, what do you even know about Women's Gymnastics?" he asked dryly.

"I know enough," Sasha shrugged. "I'm bound to have picked up a thing or two over the years. It's not really all that different."

"It's different," Howard disagreed, "and most of your experience with female gymnasts has been here in England watching Elsabeth Frost and her mediocre misfits. Payson Keeler is an elite gymnast; she's the World Bloody Champion! What could you possibly have to offer her?"

"I don't know," Sasha replied, shaking his head and dropping back to his seat as he lost the hopefulness and eagerness that filled him before. "But whatever it is, she's not getting it from Marty.

"There's something holding her back," he explained, "something stopping her from being the gymnast I _know_ she can be. I just want to see her reach that potential." His expression turned almost pleading as he finished, sending his best friend the sort of look you'd expect to see on an eleven-year-old girl and not a twenty-six year old man.

"Don't," Howard pleaded, closing his eyes tightly shut so he wouldn't have to see him, "don't give me that look, Sasha. You know I always fall for that look."

"What look?" Sasha asked sounding innocent in his reply but Howard knew that if he even dared to open his eyes Sasha would be looking back at him with his grey-blue eyes innocently wide and his bottom lips slightly jutted out.

Howard groaned, wiping his hand over his face in defeat. He opened eyes and narrowed them at Sasha's angelic expression. "I want you to know that I'm only doing this because you're my best friend and because there's a very small part of me that thinks she might actually be good for you," he said sternly as he pulled out his cellphone and pressed in a speed-dial code. "God knows it's the only reason Ralph Lauren want you right now," he said blandly as he waited for the person on the other end.

"Hello," he said as the phone was answered. "I'd like a ticket on the first available flight from London to Colorado," he began, pausing for confirmation. "Preferably direct. First class." He paused once again, more aggravated in his reply, "What do you mean there's no first class? Fine that will do." He conceded, the look on his face showing he was not pleased with the concession.

"Name?" he repeated after being asked the same question. "Alexandru Belov," he replied before giving a few more of the details.

"You'll be leaving tomorrow at eleven," Howard said, turning to Sasha when he finished his phone call. "It's business, but it'll have to do."

Sasha beamed despite Howard's obvious reluctance. "Have I told you lately that I love you, Howard?" he asked imploringly.

"Yes, but I stopped believing you years ago," Howard gave as a dry reply. "Now I have to find you somewhere to stay."

"Don't worry about it," Sasha insisted. "I don't want anyone making a big deal about it. I'll just find some cosy bed and breakfast when I get there."

"Fine," Howard agreed reluctantly. "Any idea when you'll be getting back?"

"A week?" Sasha suggested with a shrug. "I shouldn't be more than two."

"I'll call Ralph Lauren," Howard nodded. "Might as well get some publicity in while you're there. Wouldn't want things to be a complete waste."

"It's not a complete waste," Sasha insisted. "I'm helping, or at least I will be. She just doesn't know it yet."

* * *

_Rocky Mountain Gymnasium – Boulder, Colorado._

It was 4 o'clock Tuesday afternoon – nearly Wednesday in London – when Sasha strolled into the gym, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tan jacket and a light dusting of snow on his shoulders. He hadn't been expecting snow when he got there – London was usually more wet than snowy at this time of year and he'd made the mistake of thinking it wouldn't be all that different in Boulder, forgetting that the town was nestled at the base of one of the most popular ski fields in the country. The chill that hit him as soon as he stepped out of the airport almost made him rethink his decision to come here.

The gym was bustling with activity – level eights to tens working with the trainers by the mats while the elites were spread around the gym each working on a different apparatus, parents dotted around the outskirts of the floor and others behind glass watching their daughters carefully, Marty steadily making his way around – but all that came to a halt in a flurry of whispers as his presence became known in the gym. All eyes were upon him, their looks of wonder nearly identical.

_'Not all,'_ he thought to himself affectionately as he watched Payson rehearse a new skill beside the beam, hitting her mark every time. She didn't even notice the sudden inattention of her trainer or the whispers around her and just continued training, totally focussed on mastering the new skill and improving her degree of difficulty.

He gave a quick nod of acknowledgement to Austin Tucker's questioning looks and made a beeline towards the stairs that led to Marty's office. He didn't stop to check if Marty would follow him, knowing full well that Marty would disengage himself from whatever gym-mother he had been quietly chatting up by the mats.

"Uh . . . hello?" he offered politely to the petite, blonde woman seated in what he had assumed would be an empty room.

"Hello," she replied with a bright smile, stepping primly out of her desk. "I'm Summer Van Horne," she said and offered her hand. "I'm the gym manager here – well, co-gym manager. And you are?"

Sasha frowned at her obliviousness, wondering how anyone could work in competitive gymnastics (especially with Marty Walsh and Austin Tucker close at hand) and not know who he was.

"This is Sasha Belov," Marty replied for him, appearing in the door as Sasha politely took Summer's hand in his own. "He's an old friend," he added, ignoring Sasha's conspicuous scoff. "Summer, do you mind leaving us for a few moments?"

"Of course," Summer replied with a perkiness that Sasha could easily see grating upon him over a longer time frame. "I'll just go check in with Kim and Ronnie over the Christmas party arrangements."

"Christmas?" Sasha questioned as she left. "Isn't it a bit early?"

Marty shrugged in reply, coming more fully into the office. Sasha straightened his posture; trying to use the very slight height advantage he had over Marty to intimidate the former Olympian.

"How are you, Marty?" he asked with fake cordialness. "Some things haven't changed. Still chasing after unavailable women, I see."

Marty narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest in a threatening manner. "You didn't see anything, Belov."

Sasha shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You're such a hypocrite, Marty," he said lowly, "warning me away from your legal and available gymnast while you chase after their mothers."

"These girls are athletes, Sasha," Marty bit out harshly, his features hardening in response to Sasha's goading, "and they don't need people like you in their lives distracting them from their goals. They're not allowed to date."

"Oh, please," Sasha muttered turning his back on Marty so he could survey the gym floor. "I could tell who was hooking up with who the second I walked in here." His eyes were immediately drawn to the most obvious pair – the girl who had introduced herself as the 'bitch of the beam' and Carter Anderson, a male gymnast who had been making a bit of a nuisance of himself lately with his steadily improving rings routine. The others were less obvious: Austin with ex-national champion, Kaylie Cruz; a pair of female gymnasts; a couple of trainers; and the physiotherapist with one of the mothers. Then there were the remainder of the male gymnasts whose eyes, much like his own, followed every move made by the gymnast now practicing her new skill – some sort of switch-leap combination – on the beam rather than the floor.

"Perhaps you should extend the 'no dating rule' to yourself and your staff," he said, nodding his head towards where the gym manager from before stood close to a man that looked like neither a Ronnie nor a Kim.

"A shame," Marty answered, following his gaze. "You two would have made a nice couple." He smiled to himself at the thought of Sasha pursuing Summer Van Horne. Oh how he would have loved to see Sasha's face the second he realized that Summer wasn't going to put out even for him. It really was a shame, as the challenge might have distracted Sasha from his interest in Payson, at least temporarily.

"What are you doing here, Sasha?" he asked reluctantly. "I thought we sorted everything in Tokyo."

Sasha frowned at his own reflection in the windowpane before letting his eyes fall upon her once again. The new skill she was perfecting on beam would raise her degree of difficulty by a tenth of a point – maybe two tenths at a push – but he wasn't sure it would be enough. And while he could see her putting thought into her lines and extensions, she was still holding back and the moves looked almost robotic.

"How's the ballet going?" Sasha asked without turning his attention away from Payson.

"It's not," Marty said, the frustration he felt towards it evident in his voice. "She flat out refused when I suggested it but I talked to Kim – her mother – and she was fully on board. We managed to get her to agree to one class a week but her instructor says she's not improving and that while she's willingly participating, it's clear she doesn't want to be there."

"And her gymnastics?" Sasha asked even though he already knew the answer. The confidence he'd seen at Worlds that made her so beautiful it had brought tears to his eyes had all but faded. The ballet classes were doing the complete opposite of what he wanted – instead of making her see that she _could_ _be_ graceful and elegant, it was making her feel uncoordinated and ugly, and she didn't understand why this thing was being forced upon her and not others. She saw it as another mark of her ineptness and inability to embrace her femininity.

Marty sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Look, I know you were only trying to help, Sasha . . ." he began vaguely.

"Maybe I can get through to her?" Sasha asked turning to face Marty abruptly. "Just . . . let me try."

"Alright," Marty agreed. "You get one shot, Sasha, and if it doesn't work you back off completely. You leave her alone."

"Does that mean I get a prize if it works?" Sasha replied sardonically, turning to the window once again.

Marty scoffed in response. "I thought that would be a reward in itself," he said thinking bragging rights and the likelihood that Sasha would be rubbing it in his face for years to come.

Sasha smiled lightly, watching as she finally garnered a glance in his direction. For a brief moment, her serious expression faded into a small but beautiful smile and he felt suddenly unsteady on his feet for that one glimpse of beauty.

"It will be," he said quietly. "It will be."

~ to be continued ~

So we're roughly six weeks on from Worlds and a whole lot of intrigue to come as our two favourite gymnasts pick up from where they left off in Tokyo.

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**Notes:**

Watch out for Howard Bryson - he'll be a recurring OC with various important roles to play in Sasha's side of the story. Although I'm sure many won't get the reference, I always think of him as a bit like Eli Moon from CardCaptors - sort of half-mischievous rapscallion, half-maniacal super-wizard hell-bent on taking over world (sort of).

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**Translations:**

I'm so disappointed that I haven't had the chance to translate anything in _ages_. *sigh*


	7. A Word to the Wise

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

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Just a Number – A Word to the Wise

"So what do you thinks happening in there?" Lauren asked, eagerly making her way over to Payson to discuss their sudden guest. She was sure Payson must know about it, after all, nearly every magazine was saying that the two were an item and Payson was surely the reason for his visit. It was all hopelessly romantic and Lauren hoped that HBO would make a movie about them after the Olympics documenting the love story that preluded their professional success.

"Happening where?" Payson frowned and moved to her mark in order to perfect her new flight element before she tried it on the apparatus once again.

Lauren rolled her eyes. "You can't be that oblivious, Payson," she said moodily, "especially not about this." Payson continued to frown at her, not understanding what she was talking about. "Are you seriously telling me that Sasha Belov walked right past you and you didn't even notice?"

"Sasha's here?" Payson questioned eagerly, disbelief and happiness lighting her voice. "Where?" she added and glanced around for his appearance as she subtly preened her hair.

"He's up there," Lauren replied, pointing up towards Marty's office. She frowned, looking at her friend seriously in order to test the honesty of her reaction. "Did you really not know he was coming, Pay?"

Payson was silent in response as she lifted her eyes shyly towards the office where Sasha Belov stood at the window, ever imposing in all his glory. She offered a brief smile in his direction as their eyes met and then turned her attention swiftly back to Lauren. "Why would I know?" she asked pointedly, forcing her features into an expression of nonchalance.

"Well, 'cause you guys are like . . ." Lauren intoned seriously, trailing off in order to allow Payson to finish. The other gymnast just rolled her eyes sarcastically.

"I already told you, Lo, nothing happened," Payson said drolly.

"I know, but I figured you were . . . you know, _lying_," Lauren answered. "It's kinda standard around here to deny that sort of thing," she added with a waving gesture towards their friends. There was hardly a gymnast in The Rock who wasn't flouting the no-dating rule, and Lauren knew that herself, Emily, and Kaylie were among the worst culprits.

"Lauren, I've said it before and I'll say it again," Payson began, "I'm not going to let myself be distracted by some trivial relationship. Those sorts of things can wait until _after_ the Olympics."

"But that was when we were talking about some little boy like Nicky Russo," Lauren protested. "This is _Sasha Belov_ we're talking about," she insisted more seriously_,_ "and he is _all_ man," she said appraisingly.

"And you guys would be perfect for each other," she added eagerly. "You'd have the most adorable babies . . . after the Olympics."

Payson shook her head in a reprimanding way. "I knew that comment was you. It had Lauren Tanner written all over it."

"It's not my fault," Lauren pleaded back. "They cornered me. They just –"

She made to give further protest, but her words were cut off as the door to Marty's office suddenly flew open. "Need I remind you all that we are only 8 months out from the Olympics?" Marty asked sternly. The rest of the gym immediately turned their attention away, ostensibly doing whatever it was they were supposed to be engaged in when Sasha entered the gym. Payson just rolled her eyes and mounted the beam once and ran through her routine.

"Payson, can I talk to you for a moment?" a British accent asked, breaking into her gymnastics bubble. She nodded, but continued through her routine, not giving him her full attention until she had completed the dismount.

"Nice Arabian double front," he complimented as her feet hit solidly on the ground.

"Thanks," Payson shrugged. "I was working on it before Worlds, but it wasn't quite right. I've got it pretty much perfect now and I can land it consistently."

"Looks like you'll be pulling out all the stops at the Olympics," he smiled warmly at her.

"Looks that way," she answered back mysteriously. "So what are you doing in Boulder?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Not trying to spy on your competition, are you?" she teased affably and nodded her head towards Austin who was practicing a strength element on the parallel bars.

"I . . . uh . . . had some media work in the area and I thought I'd come check in with Marty," he lied awkwardly and unconvincingly. Payson gave him a suspicious look, but let it slide on the assumption that he must have a good reason for concealing the truth. She also assumed he was only half-lying (the part about checking in with Marty was an obvious lie) and had no idea that she was his sole reason for even being in the country.

"So . . ." he continue awkwardly, his hands back in his pockets and his easy stance turning tense. He felt strangely nervous, but told himself it was only because he knew he had to be careful with his wording – he didn't want to scare Payson off, not when this could be so important to her training.

He coughed to clear his throat, standing taller so that he at least looked confident. "I have some friends involved in a production in Denver and well . . . I've got tickets if you'd like to come see it," he said casually. "I can get extras for your friends if you like," he added quickly so that it didn't seem like he was asking her out.

Payson smiled and shifted a non-existent strand of hair back behind her ear. "I'd love to," she answered brightly. "Could you get . . . five extra tickets?" she asked, hoping she wasn't asking too much. She knew Lauren and Kaylie would expect to be able to take Carter and Austin respectively and so tried to include them in the arrangement.

"Shouldn't be a problem," he assured her, inwardly sighing with relief. "I'll just let them know how many to expect." He nodded to himself and stood before her for a few moments before finally giving in and placing tender kiss upon her cheek.

She stared after him, stunned by the sudden contact and holding her hand to her cheek until the feeling faded. As the shock wore off, she began to absorb the fact that he was walking away from her and there was still more that needed to be said. "Sasha!" she called quickly after him, taking a few steps forward as she waited for him to turn around with a cocky grin. "When is it?" she asked him, her head titled sweetly to the side.

"When is what?" he asked blinking in confusion.

Payson shook her head and answered, "The production. When is it?"

"Wednesday night," he answered, flushing for his foolishness and inwardly cringing at his mistake. "I'll give you all the details tomorrow."

"Okay," Payson grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

"_La naiba._ Idiot," Sasha muttered to himself as he twisted the heel of his palm into his forehead. He couldn't believe he had let himself get so flustered over an eighteen-year-old girl – one who seemed to have the impossible ability decimate his every attempt at suaveness or cool. That had not been a part of the plan. The plan had consisted of him coming to Boulder, just checking in on her and then heading home with the assurance that she'd be perfectly fine and thus he'd no longer need to be obsessing over her every other minute of the day.

"Yeah, you are," a familiar voice agreed and Sasha turned his head to see a smug looking Austin Tucker leaning against the doors to the Rock with his arms crossed lazily over his chest.

"I'm not sure if anyone's told you this," he continued, smiling although his tone had become serious, "but that girl's off-limits, alright?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tucker," Sasha retorted darkly, his eyes narrowed at the younger gymnast.

"Yeah, you do," Austin disagreed with the same easy smile and cheerful demeanour Sasha always associated with the American champion, "and the fact that you're even here means it needed to be said. These girls are like my sisters and Payson is one of my best friends, and if you hurt her in any way. . . I'd probably have to kill you.

"Which is why I'm telling you not to go there," he concluded. "I like you, Sasha, so I'd really like not to have to kill you." He frowned, pausing to make sure his statement made sense. "So for both our sakes just consider Payson Keeler a no-go-zone."

"That's not why I'm here," Sasha protested weakly, his posture staunch.

"Maybe," Austin shrugged, "but I've seen the way you look at her, Belov, so I'm giving you the same warning I give all the guys. Don't even think about going there unless you want to deal with me in the future."

"So that's what's been keeping them at bay," Sasha said, understanding awash on his features. "I figured it had to be something more than Marty's no-dating rule."

Austin looked indifferent at the response, neither offended by the insinuation, nor flattered by the implied admiration. "I know first hand how effective that rule can be," he said honestly, "so I took matters into my own hands."

"It seems to work so far, but I don't scare quite so easily, _puiule_," Sasha nettled, eyes flashing warningly. He caught himself a moment later, realizing that he'd given himself away. "But that's still not why I'm here," he added, even less convincingly than before.

"Sure," Austin answered, his slow drawl making it clear that he didn't believe it for a second. "So, are you staying near by?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I was just about to go find somewhere," Sasha replied. "Any recommendations?"

Austin blinked slowly, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Not here?" he suggested vaguely.

"Austin, I thought we were past that," Sasha groaned tiredly.

"No," Austin said, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea what time of the year it is, Belov?"

"It's late November," Sasha answered disinterestedly, "which is why it's so bloody cold here."

"It's Thanksgiving," Austin corrected ignoring Sasha's sarcastic eye-roll at the mention of one of their silly American holidays, "and this is a college town, which mean the alumni are rolling in for the big game on Friday. Every hotel in the area is booked solid until next Monday."

"Great," Sasha muttered with a shake of his head. _'So much for keeping a low profile,'_ he thought to himself. He'd have to go drop his name at whatever the Boulder equivalent of The Langham was in order to have somewhere to stay for the duration of his visit. This would immediately spark press interest and he'd end up throwing himself and Payson in the spotlight once again, which is something he honestly didn't want to do if he could help it. "I don't suppose Denver will be much better?" he asked hopefully.

"Not really," Austin replied, "though they might clear out sooner.

"It's cool," he insisted and continued almost eagerly, "You can crash on my couch. I've got a place by the lake and all these hot co-eds nearby to take your mind off things."

Sasha gave him a dry look but accepted the offer all the same. He'd come up with an alternative, but in the meantime he could surely bear to spend a little quality time with his closest rival. "What time will you be done?"

"Soon," Austin assured him. "Do you want to meet me back here in an hour?"

"Yeah," Sasha agreed. "Actually," he said, stopping Austin before he disappeared back inside, "do you have any idea where I can rent a suit?"

"You, Belov, are pathetic," Austin replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he headed back inside.

"So, is that a no?"

~ to be continued ~

Big brother Austin makes his presence known.

* * *

**Notes:**

Although I love any sort of feedback, I just want to say that I'm pretty settled upon the pairings in this. Obviously it's Payson/Sasha, with Kaylie/Austin, Lauren/Carter (although I can be persuaded on this one), and Emily/Damon in the periphery.

* * *

**Translations:**

_La naiba_: shit/damn. An expression of frustration.  
_puiule: _cub


	8. No Dancing Today

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – No Dancing Today

Payson groaned as she slammed the door of her sports utility vehicle harshly, stepping out onto the damp tarmac outside the gym. "Mom, I said I'd go and I will," she complained into her cellphone, "but I have to go to the gym first. I still have training to fit around this ridiculous fascination of Marty's, and I'm gonna have to leave early tonight as is, so I'm going in now."

She paused as her mother replied, chastising her and complaining about her odd habits. "Mom, I am not avoiding you," she insisted aggressively. "If I'm going to spend nearly two hours learning how to pirouette," she said disdainfully, creasing her features into a snarl, "then I have to come to the gym two hours early to make up for it. It's called commitment.

"I –" she continued, but stopped suddenly as she felt a quick tap on her shoulder and turned to receive a brief wave. "Mom, I have to go," she said quickly ending the call before her mother tried to push her further.

"Good morning, Payson," he said kindly, a warm smile lighting his face and reaching all the way to his grey-blue eyes.

"Morning, Sasha," she replied, but frowned at his unanticipated appearance. "What are you doing here?" she asked before she could censor her thoughts.

Sasha shrugged and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, his smile morphing to a teasing smirk. "Didn't I tell you I'd see you tomorrow?" he asked her.

"Yes, but it's five-thirty," she answered, her hands resting argumentatively on her hips. "Nobody's here before seven."

"You're here," he replied smoothly, his voice low. He leaned forward, his six foot one figure towering over her tiny gymnastics frame in a way that she couldn't help but find undeniably masculine and just a little bit sexy. Her breath caught in her throat for just a moment and she unconsciously wetted her lips and leaned closer herself.

"Well apparently I'm some kind of gymnastics freak," she told him blandly, shaking herself out of the sudden daze and forcing herself to take a step back. "Or hadn't you heard?

"So what are you doing here at five-thirty in the morning?" she rephrased, continuing before he had the chance to comment upon her status as a 'gymnastics freak'.

"I'm waiting for my accommodation," he told her, leaning lazily against her car.

"What do you mean 'accommodation'?" she asked him with a bewildered frown.

"Well . . ." he began sheepishly, "I didn't exactly think this 'drop by Boulder' thing through and – ironically I think – there's no room at the inn."

"How is that ironic?" Payson asked, focusing on the minute detail instead more obvious questions raised by his admission.

"Well, it's not Christmas," he answered as though it made perfect sense.

"That's not ironic," she replied immediately. "I think it's only ironic at Christmas even though it's kinda of a cliché, which probably stops it from being ironic at all. Maybe juxtaposition, but definitely not irony."

He laughed at her serious expression, more so when she looked apologetic for the comment and bit her lips nervously. "This has to be the most surreal moment of my life," he declared, implicitly assuring her that she had made no social blunder and had nothing to be apologetic about. "Debating English language features while we wait for my lodgings to arrive."

"I wouldn't call it a debate," Payson corrected with an impish smile, Sasha's natural charm making her feel more comfortable in the conversation. "I'm pretty sure you just caved."

"Don't get cheeky, you," he admonished jokingly and reached out with his left leg to tap her calf.

"Next you'll be telling me to respect my elders," she mocked, the knowing look in her eyes telling him this was a dig at his slightly advanced years. Not that he was all that old really – at least not for a male gymnast – but he certainly had a few years on her and the jibe was it's own form of turn around.

"You, Payson Keeler, are not as nice as people have led me to believe," he told her with a serious expression. He could only hold it for a moment before Payson's laughing expression brought his own stern one to ruin and they collapsed into mutual laughter until a loud horn blasted from a truck caught their attention.

"Is that it?" Payson asked as a trailer was towed into parking lot.

"Indeed it is," Sasha answered proudly. "The finest streamlined, luxury recreational vehicle that Ohio has to offer. With all the trimmings – maple-like finish, bathroom and shower, fully functioning kitchen, and basic reception.

"C'mon, I'll give you a tour," he smiled and took her hand to lead her over to the silver trailer.

"You're completely mad," she told him.

"I was going for exciting and outdoorsy, but I can work with mad," he replied with a charming smile.

"Definitely mad," she reiterated, shaking her head at him. "You do realize it's already winter, right? It was less than thirty-six degrees last night. You're going to freeze to death," she finished sternly, unable to hide the worry from her tone.

"That's cold, right?" he asked, unable to do Fahrenheit to Celsius conversions in his head.

"Yes, it's cold," she laughed.

"It was either this or Austin's couch," he argued, "and that thing is not fit for human habitation."

She bit back a laugh on Austin's behalf as she half-heartedly defended him. "His place isn't _that_ bad."

Sasha shook his head. "That's probably because he cleans up when you girls come to visit. I get the 'real' Austin Tucker – raw and uncensored and unsanitary."

He laughed a bit at her disgusted expression as he opened the door to the trailer. With gentlemanly flourish, he bowed low as he held the door for her and grinned back at her pantomimed curtsey. He followed in behind her and guided her around the small interior and pointed out its obvious features.

"Okay, I understand not wanting to stay with Austin, but how is this your next best option?" she asked him curiously, glancing around the surprisingly roomy, but still rather cramped trailer. It was actually rather stylish and homey looking for a trailer, but at the end of the day, it was still a trailer and she was sure just the mention of his name could have got him a last minute reservation at the swankiest hotel in Boulder.

"You'll see," Sasha replied, listening to the sound of tyres on asphalt and the unmistakeable sound of a car door slamming hard in anger. "In 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . ."

There was a loud stream of curses from outside followed by a loud below. "Sasha Belov! What the hell do you think you're doing parking this monstrosity at my gym!"

Sasha grinned at the reaction – Marty was even more irate than he could have hoped. He winked at Payson before sticking his head out the door to reply to Marty's curses. "Morning, old boy," he said brightly. "How's your day goin'?"

"What do you think, Belov?" Marty replied tightly. "What the hell do you think this is?"

Sasha feigned confusion as he stepped out, resisting a smile as he heard Payson giggling behind him. "It's a sports recreational vehicle," he answered plainly. "What do you think?"

Marty's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He crossed his arms over his chest and replied, "I think it's trespassing on my property."

"You've nothing to worry about there," Sasha assured him brightly with an easy smile. "I spoke to . . . um . . . Steve Tanner and Alex Cruz last night. They pretty much gave me free rein of the gym, when all I was asking for was a tiny corner of the parking lot." He glanced back to see Payson collapsing against his kitchen counter in a fit of giggles.

"Real nice, Sasha," Marty muttered with a snarl, catching Sasha's glance back to the trailer and the sound of laughter emanating from inside. "You haven't even been in the country for twenty-four hours," he hissed. "Way to set a good example, Belov.

"And you wonder why I don't want you hanging around her," he said darkly. "Payson – "

"Payson," Sasha echoed at the same time, raising his voice above Marty's, "was just checking out the furnishings," he said as he dragged the blonde in front of him as a human shield. "I believe you two know each other."

Marty half-gaped-half-glared at Payson's appearance from _within_ the trailer. "Morning, Marty," she said sheepishly, raising a hand in greeting towards her coach. "I'll just head inside . . ." she suggested, trailing off awkwardly as she cautiously backed away from the pair.

"Payson, wait," Sasha called, catching her before she escaped. "About tonight, I . . .

"Well," he said, trying to add some surety to his voice, "Austin has all the details. He said he'd take Carter Anderson and the two girls, and I'll take you and Emily so I need your addresses, and . . . yeah . . ."

Payson nodded, riffling through her bag for pen and paper. "I'll get Ems to get ready at my place so you can pick us both up there," she said as she wrote her address down on a piece of paper. "What time do we need to be ready by?"

"Half six?" he suggested. "It starts at half seven so that gives us an hour to get there just in case there's traffic."

"Ok," she nodded and handed off the piece of paper, slipping the unused stationary back in her gym bag. "I'll see you later," she told him with a bright smile. She then stepped forward and reciprocated his gesture from yesterday, placing a quick kiss to his cheek before dashing back to the gym.

As always, Sasha was caught in the disarming sway of her hips as she walked away from him, his eyes entranced by the unconsciously alluring movements she made in her retreat until Marty let out a loud "Ahem!" beside him. "It's not what you think," Sasha protested quickly as he turned around to face the other man, raising his hands in surrender. "It was completely innocent."

"Oh, I believe you," Marty answered, "and not because I have faith in you or anything, Belov.

"I trust Payson to make the right decision when it comes to the likes of you," he assured him disdainfully.

"Of course you do," Sasha replied. He refrained from asking Marty what the need was for a 'no-dating rule' and his near constant warnings to back off if he trusted her so emphatically. Instead he moved the conversation along, thinking back to the phone call he had interrupted with his arrival. "She really doesn't like this ballet thing, does she?" he mused aloud. "I bet she's giving you hell for it."

Marty nodded. "That there was the most she's said to me since she started classes," he said.

"And I suppose you must be good for something, Belov," he admitted reluctantly. He sighed in response to Sasha's questioning stare. "That's the first time I've seen her smile in weeks."

* * *

"So let me get this straight?" Kim Keeler asked as she straightened her eldest daughter's hair in the hall mirror. "The guy who nothing happened with and who you're not interested in asked you out, but it's not a date, and you're still not interested and he has nothing to do with the fact that you've been preening in front of that mirror for the last hour. Does that about cover it?"

Payson huffed as she turned away from the mirror to look her mother in the eye. "It's really not a date, Mom," she insisted. "Emily's coming," she said, gesturing to her friend who sat near by in a silver/black knee-length halter dress with a bubble skirt. "_Austin's_ coming, for gods sakes," she added dramatically as though Austin's presence somehow prevented it from being a date more than any other factor.

"You know in my day, we used to call that a 'group date'," Kim responded sardonically earning herself a few laughs from the room's other occupants. "Are those still cool?" she added turning to her younger daughter who was flipping frivolously through a magazine.

"Mom, we talked about this," Becca replied sternly without glancing up from her magazine. "You're not allowed to use the word 'cool'."

"Don't group dates usually have even numbers?" asked Emily. "I'm like everyone's third wheel tonight."

"Then it looks like it will be a nice change from the norm," answered Payson spitefully, accustomed as she was to playing the third, fifth, and seventh wheel in group-outings like this one. She had hoped Emily would take her side in defending the non-date status of the outing rather than cementing the idea further in her mother's mind.

"Oh, I look ridiculous!" she cried in frustration, glaring at her image in the mirror. "I look like I'm trying to be sexy, but I'm me, so I just failed entirely.

"I have to go change," she said for probably the fifth time that evening, disappearing down the hall to her room once again.

"It is so a date," Becca insisted smugly, laughing at her sister's frantic pre-date behaviour. The older Keeler had been frantically moving between her bedroom and the lounge room trying on different dresses and shoes since she got home from the gym much earlier in the afternoon than usual. So far she had tried on five different dresses, each in a different style and colour than the last, and gone through twelve pairs of shoes. The only thing that stayed the same was her hair and makeup, which was done in a classic, minimalist sort of way.

Kim frowned, glancing between the two girls. "On a scale from one to ten, how worried should I be about this?" she asked vaguely, more to herself than to Emily and Becca. She shook herself out of it and turned to Emily to ask, "so what are you girls going to see?"

Emily glanced around cautiously to make sure that Payson wasn't near enough to hear before revealing the secret. "We're seeing a ballet," she answered in a low whisper. "Austin says it's a modern interpretation of _Swan Lake_."

This information seemed to relieve Kim to a degree. _'Maybe there is nothing to worry about,'_ she thought more reassuringly to herself. Sasha Belov had picked the wrong activity if he wanted to woo her eighteen-year-old daughter. If her response to Marty's mandatory dance lessons were anything to go by, Sasha Belov was soon to be completely out of Payson's favour.

_DING! DONG!_

"He's early," Kim noted approvingly as the door bell startled her out of her thoughts. She always had been a stickler for punctuality.

"Does that mean you've changed to 'Team Sasha'?" Becca asked, noting the approval in her mother's tone.

"There are teams?" Kim asked in good humour.

"Yeah," Becca replied with a laugh. "There's 'Team Sasha' and then there's 'Team Get-That-Man-Away-From-My-Daughter'."

Kim smiled and rolled her eyes. "Is that him?" Payson asked anxiously as she came into the room in a new dress – a full-length, black dress, which Kim vaguely remembered purchasing, with a sweet-heart neckline and rhinestones along the straps and framing the bust – half-hanging off of her frame. "I'm not ready."

"It's fine," Kim assured her. "Becca, help your sister get ready while Emily and I stall him," she said as she made her way down the hall to the front door. The young, blonde man outside her door greeted her with a friendly smile as she opened it.

"You must be Payson's mother," he said kindly. "I'm Sasha Belov," he said and offered his hand.

Kim eyed him suspiciously but accepted the proffered hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Belov," she said partly out of politeness, but largely to try and highlight the age gap between him and her daughter. "You look very . . . debonair this evening," she complimented kindly.

Sasha smiled, pulling at the dark lapels of his two-piece suit. "I've got Lamar and Sons to thank for that." He wore the suit well, with just a white shirt and thin, black tie underneath, and a napkin in his breast pocket. There was light stubble on his jaw, but that seemed to add to his charm rather than take away from the overall polished look. Kim smiled at the humour and led him through the lounge where Emily stood to greet him.

"It's nice to see you again, Emily," he said politely. "I'm not sure I got the chance to congratulate you on your medal at Worlds."

Emily gave him a knowing smile that made him flush a little. There had, after all, only been one person he'd gotten the chance to congratulate at Worlds and he had gone to special effort to do so. The extent of his effort became even more apparent to Emily when she realized that tulips only bloom in the spring – he would have had to special order them from somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere and probably days in advance. Given the need for forward planning, Emily suspected that 'congratulations' hadn't been the real motivation behind Sasha's thoughtful gift.

"You did very well yourself, Sasha," she answered. "Austin was devastated. His only condolence is that he still has the only gold you'll never win."

"The infamous 'Team Gold'," Sasha grimaced. "I suppose I should just go back to Romania and show the little sod whose boss," he suggested with a smile. "Then he'd have no golds," he said with a wink.

"You wouldn't be so cruel," a third voice replied, "inflicting us with Austin's whining like that."

Sasha turned his head to greet the newcomer, but found himself unable to speak as he laid his eyes upon her. She was stunning, her figure encased in a silky black fabric and her hair pulled back in a low, classic bun. He wasn't even sure he would have had the words to describe her had he been able to speak.

"Doesn't she look pretty?" asked what Sasha assumed to be Payson's fourteen-year-old little sister, as she looked a lot like Payson, only smaller and perkier. "Tell her she looks pretty."

He swallowed heavily, taking a cautious step towards her. "You look . . ." he began, pausing as he searched through his vocabulary for the right word. "_Frumos_," he finally said, picking a word from his native tongue once he realized that every word he knew in English to describe beauty fell short. _Frumos_ was some how more encompassing than merely beautiful and was the closest thing he could think of to describe the woman standing before him looking like a goddess.

"_Nu am văzut niciodată altceva, sau altcineva, mai frumos_," he added lowly, bowing his head.

Payson blushed prettily even though she didn't understand the words. There was something in his low tone and the way his eyes met hers that told her it was right to be blushing. She couldn't help but laugh a little as he gallantly offered her his arm, which she took genuinely, without any mocking display to counter his chivalry.

"Payson Keeler, your carriage awaits."

~ to be continued ~

I hope everyone picked up on the series parallel here - same events in only a slightly different Universe. These events are just such a huge part of this ship that they stay with them even though their relationship has changed. Hope you all liked.

* * *

**Notes:**

I really couldn't decided whether or not there being 'no room in the inn' could be ironic at Thanksgiving. At best I thought maybe juxtaposition because of the combination of religious with non-religious elements, but I think even that was a push. I think it could be ironic at Christmas, but it's obviously a cliche then and I think an 'ironic cliche' might just be an oxymoron (which is a type of juxtaposition and, I suppose, seeing as you don't expect cliches to be ironic, it is probably ironic except that the word 'ironic' has become so overused that it is now a cliche - it's a vicious cycle!). Yes, I am the kind of person who seriously sits around wondering whether things are ironic or merely juxtapositions (or some other related language feature).

I have pictures on the LJ version of the four dresses I picked for the girls. I'm a bit uncertain about the dress I picked for Kaylie, but I think the other three are just right even down to the hairstyle, especially Payson's.

* * *

**Translations:**

___Frumos: _'beautiful' is just one of the 31 different meanings that google translate offers for this word. Thus it's use - I don't think it strictly translates to English, or at least that was the impression I got, and a lot of the meanings given were oh so relevant - artistic, lovely, charming, delicate._  
_


	9. A Night of Firsts

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – A Night of Firsts

_Ellie Caulkins Opera House – Denver, Colorado_

"You know, I have been to a ballet before," Payson told Sasha as they lagged behind the rest of the group together.

"Really?" Sasha replied his tone slightly distracted as he tried to wave off Austin and the others. Austin narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but eventually shrugged and complied, leading the other four into the concert hall.

"My dad used to take me and Becca all the time when I was younger," she told him. "We went to _The Nutcracker_ every Christmas."

"Did you like it?" he asked and returned his full attention to her.

She paused thoughtfully, biting the inside of her cheek and tilting her head to the side. "I only like the part where we got to drink apple cider out of plastic champagne glasses," she finally admitted, smiling sweetly at him as though that would somehow appease him and get her out of their planned activities for the evening. Of course, this was only an amenable option if Sasha would come with her.

"So you're not really a fan of the Ballet?" he surmised and smiled back at her sweetness.

"No," she answered emphatically. "Which is what makes this whole thing with Marty so frustrating," she added tiredly. "He's making me take ballet classes," she explained, "and I can't stand all the girly dipping and twirling and the stupid dance steps. It's just not who I am."

Sasha grimaced at hearing her speak so despairingly about what had really been his idea for her, not Marty's. "Payson, I have a small confession to make," he began sheepishly, guiltily avoiding her eyes.

"A confession?" Payson asked with a hint of mirth, her eyes lighting with intrigue. "Does this have anything to do with the real reason you're in Boulder?"

"In a way . . ." he answered vaguely. "I mean, yes, and well . . . I'm not sure how much you're going to like me once I tell you this," he said discouragingly, "but I guess I don't really have a choice in the matter."

He took a deep breath to steal himself for her response and continued with a pained smile. "The ballet classes were my idea. I told Marty that you should do them."

"Why?" Payson asked, her expression turning cold. Sasha wasn't sure he'd ever seen Payson look at him that way, but he supposed he deserved it. He was, at the end of it all, the one who had forced her into a situation that made her uncomfortable and crumbled what little self-esteem she had when it came to poise and finesse. He wasn't sure he could stand her looking at him like that, not after becoming so accustomed to her laughter and smiles.

He sent her a pleading look and explained himself to the best of his ability, hoping she would understand. "I thought it would be good for you," he told her sincerely, "and I thought it would be good for your gymnastics – that it would help you the same way dancing in the gym helped at Worlds.

"I thought it would help you in the dance elements, and that you'd be able to marry that sort of grace and beauty with the power in your gymnastics," he finished sadly, knowing that he had failed her and pushed too hard.

She shook her head at him, frustrated by his attempts to change not merely who she was, but who she was at as a gymnast – the only part of herself that she felt truly comfortable with. "I'm not that kind of girl, Sasha," she told him adamantly, resisting the urge to simply walk away from him. "My gymnastics is all about strength and power, and I've accepted I'm just not like Kaylie or Lauren who can dance around and flash a smile and everyone will just lap it up because they're so pretty and girly. Grace is just something outside of my repertoire.

"Girls like me aren't cut out for that sort of thing," she insisted sadly, embarrassed by her own limitations. "I'm just not made for grace and beauty – for ballet – and if I can accept it, then so can you."

Sasha looked at her sadly, his expression creased with worry. He took her hand gently and held his breath for fear that she would pull it away from him. "It kills me that you see yourself that way, Payson," he told her seriously and squeezed her hand gently. "I wish you could see what I see. You don't even realize how beautiful you are."

"I'm not beautiful," Payson assured him quickly, turning her head away from him. He shook his head in disagreement, gently cupping her cheek with his free hand and guiding her to face him once again.

"You are," he told her softly as his fingers trailed down her cheek. He leaned down towards her, suddenly closer than he was before – so much so that Payson could feel the heat emanating from his body and his warm breath against her face. "You –"

"Belov!" a voice called in greeting, causing them both to jump back at the sudden intrusion. They both turned to face a small woman – smaller even than Payson – dressed in gaucho pants and a heavy leather jacket, with a baseball cap atop her head.

"Hey," Sasha greeted, pulling her into a quick hug. Payson cringed, trying to bury the twinge of jealousy she felt upon seeing him so close to another woman. She was sure she had no right to feel that way, especially when she had spent so much of her time trying to convince others that she had no interest in anything beyond friendship with Sasha Belov.

"Jayden, it's good to see you," he said warmly. "I was goin' to try catch you after the show, but I'm glad I saw you now. How are you?"

"Good, good," Jayden told him warmly. "How about you? I haven't seen you in ages. How's Howard doin'?"

"Howard is his usual painful self," Sasha answered plainly. "Still thinks that being my manager means he gets to intrude into every aspect of my life and be thanked for it."

"You'll have to tell him I said 'hi'," Jayden laughed. "So who's this?" she said, rounding upon Payson and giving Sasha a knowing look.

"Jayden Delgado," he gestured quickly towards Jayden before turning his attention solely upon Payson, "this is Payson Keeler," he said, his voice low and affectionate.

"Payson Keeler," Jayden repeated with a grin as she offered her hand to Payson. "I knew I recognised you. The Gymnastics Champion, right?" Payson nodded as she accepted Jayden's proffered hand, finding that she quite liked this person despite some initial negative thoughts she might have had with regards to her. Jayden continued, laughing again, "So what are you doing hanging out with this old boy?"

Payson managed a laugh, smiling a little more genuinely as she caught Sasha's annoyed expression. "Lowering my standards, apparently," she replied, sending a teasing smile Sasha's way. "I suppose you could think of it as community service – spending time with the aged."

"Oi, you are cheeky today," Sasha complained in a very British way, poking her arm in retaliation. "No sparkling cider for you now, _pisicuţă_," he teased. (Little cat/kitten – mocking/teasing endearment for girls).

She eyed him suspiciously, trying to gauge exactly how likely he was to carry out the threat. He still looked perfectly pleasant and polite, but there was a playful twinkle in his eyes that told her he was willing to go through with the threat just to see how she'd take it. She was almost certain he would until he suddenly laughed at her expression and took her hand in his once again.

Jayden smiled knowingly as they turned their attention back to her. "I wish I could stay out here with you guys, but I gotta go back there and start the show," she said apologetically. "Don't want to keep everyone waiting.

"It was really meeting you, Payson," she said genuinely, shaking hands once again.

"You too, Jayden," Payson agreed.

"Hopefully I'll see you both after," Jayden continued and then looked pointedly at Sasha. "I want to talk to you later, Belov, and I'm pretty sure you know what it's about."

Sasha's jaw twitched with the urge to protest but Jayden had already hustled off towards the stage door before he could tell her that she didn't know what she was talking about.

"So Jayden is your friend with the production," Payson concluded. "Is she the stage manager? Is that how you got the tickets?"

He smiled appeasingly but gave nothing away. "Come along, _pisicuţă_," he said, offering his arm. "I think you might just like this."

"I'd like it better with sparkling cider," she told him playfully. She gave him a pleading look, glancing up at him through her lashes as she threaded her arm through his.

"Maybe," he responded shrewdly, knowing full well he would give in. He doubted there was a man on the planet who could stand to deny her when she was looking so imploring. And if there was, it certainly wasn't him.

Sasha smiled, half-watching the performance and half-watching Payson from the corner of his eye. She looked completely enthralled in what was happening on stage, her expressions matching the emotions projected from below.

He leaned in close – perhaps closer than necessary – and took advantage of a slight lull in the music to explain what they were seeing on stage. "The swan must die in order to be reborn," he said lowly. "It symbolizes the courage it takes to let go of who we think we are and become who we're meant to be."

She pursed her lips and he hoped the change in her expression meant that she had understood the underlying meaning in his words. "She's beautiful," she murmured back quietly, her voice heavy with awe, "and powerful and strong. I've never seen anyone look so graceful and yet so formidable at the same time."

"Do you recognize her?" he asked, giving her a moment to reach the conclusion on her own.

She watched the dancer more carefully, her face registering with recognition and then shock. "It's Jayden," she gaped. _"That's Jayden."_

"Looks can be deceiving," he responded to her unspoken question, looking smug and satisfied as he leaned back into his chair and Payson leaned forward in her own. He was pretty sure he had just made his breakthrough.

* * *

"Well?" Jayden asked, making her way to Sasha as soon as she had gotten back into her usual attire.

"Well what?" Sasha replied distractedly as he watched Payson on the other side of the room chatting eagerly with Emily. He was happy to see her looking so bright and lively, especially after seeing her so self-conscious and so sure of her own limitations outside of the theatre. Now she sparkled with confidence and it was like anything was possible in her smile. This was the Payson he was (conservatively speaking) growing more and more fond of every time he saw her.

"_Well what?"_ Jayden repeated sardonically, rolling her eyes. "Don't pretend like you don't know, Belov. I want to know whether whatever little plan you had to get the girl actually worked."

"This wasn't about getting the girl," he said and turned towards her. "I'm not trying to get the girl."

Jayden gave him a sceptical look, clearly disbelieving of her motives. "How long have we known each other, Belov?" she asked casually.

"About four years."

Jayden nodded. "And how many times have you randomly called me up out of the blue practically begging for tickets to one of my ballets?" she asked him superciliously.

"I see your point," he conceded, "but it's really not about that.

"I was trying to convince her that ballet is not the root of all evil," he explained with a wry smile in response to Jayden's continued disbelieving looks. "Hopefully, seeing you on stage showed her that learning how to perform a _fouetté en tournant_ isn't going to change who she is. That you don't have to be a 'girly-girl' to be a ballerina."

Jayden smiled, taking no offence at the suggestion that she wasn't 'girly' enough for ballet – it was something that she was accustomed to and something that she was quite proud of in her own way. "I'm surprised she hasn't had any instruction," Jayden noted, watching Payson for a moment. "She moves beautifully."

"Only when she doesn't have to think about it," Sasha frowned, "but you're right. I imagine she probably would have been a dancer if she hadn't been a gymnast, so you should count yourself lucky she didn't become your competition," he added with a more playful expression.

Jayden shook her head. "That girl's too good for you, Belov," she told him seriously. "But she is good for you."

Sasha sighed in frustration, wondering why every person he knew had something to say about a relationship he wasn't even in. "I already told you, Jayden, I'm not –"

"And I'm just telling you," she replied, holding her hand up to stop him, "that you shouldn't be so quick to rule it out as an option."

"You should go talk to Payson," he said without acknowledging Jayden's words, changing the subject in the hopes that she would drop it completely. "She'd really like to commend you on your performance."

"Well, you know me," Jayden laughed, primping fauxly, "I can never say no to a fan." She laughed and made her way over to where Emily and Payson were standing, and quickly engaged them in a deep discussion about true beauty and how grace and elegance could come in all shapes and sizes. It was what he was trying to make Payson understand by bringing her here tonight, but he suspected it would be more effective coming from Jayden, who didn't look much like your typical ballerina.

Payson glanced in his direction as Jayden said something that must have struck a particular chord with her, and sent him a tentative smile. He returned it, his own expression gentle and affectionate.

"Who's she?" Austin asked, coolly sliding up next to him and nodding his head towards the three women. There was a slight edge to his tone – an implied threat that his answer better be something at least as platonic as 'my cousin' or there would be hell to pay. It seemed Austin was back to playing big brother to girl who was perfectly capable of looking out for her own interests.

"She's my best friend's ex," Sasha answered with a suppressed eye roll, which was at least as platonic as my sister's friend. "She used to be a principle in London, but she's been with her company in New York for almost two years now."

The other gymnast looked relieved by the revelation, and Sasha shook his head in annoyance. He didn't understand Austin sometimes – one moment he's telling him to back-off or face the consequences, and the next he's hanging around making sure that he didn't have any other girls on the side. The message was contradictory. The only thing that Sasha could garner from his actions was the he wasn't to have Payson Keeler under any circumstances, and that he better stay away from other girls too just in case Austin changed his mind on that point.

"I've been thinking," Austin said suddenly, breaking him out of his mini-rant.

"Anything I should be concerned about?" Sasha replied drolly.

Austin's expression tightened as he flashed the sort of smile you expect after a bad joke. "I just . . . maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you and her," Austin began awkwardly. He'd never really been good at put his _feelings_ into words like that, and the matter was made worse by Sasha's imposing figure beside him looking more frustrated than amused by the attempt to make amends.

"And don't say there's nothing there, Belov," he added quickly before Sasha could begin his well-rehearsed tirade about how he wasn't interested in Payson Keeler and how nothing happened in any of their interactions. "You're not fooling anyone.

"Look, the point is," Austin continued, sensing that Sasha was losing his patience, "that it's Payson's decision, and if you're what she wants, I shouldn't stand in the way of that."

With those last words, understanding dawned on Sasha. "Your girlfriend gave you a dressing down, didn't she?" he guessed, realizing that Austin's sudden need for verbal reconciliation hadn't come off his own bat.

"Lauren Tanner, actually," Austin replied, looking as though he was painfully reliving the experience. "And as much as I hate to admit it, she's right. Payson's a big girl and I've got no right to interfere. And Lauren thinks you guys look cute together and promised to do some pretty disturbing things to me if I didn't keep my nose out of it."

Sasha had to wonder if maybe he had misjudge Lauren Tanner in his first impressions if she could have Austin Tucker shaking in his boots. It took a rather formidable opponent to make Austin do anything against his will, and yet somehow, under Lauren's encouragement, Austin was quite nearly apologizing and backing off completely. In fact, he almost seemed to be giving his blessing.

"I never needed your permission, Austin," he told him coolly. "This doesn't change things."

"Yeah," Austin agreed with a tight smile, "but at least we're square, right?

"And I'll even take Emily home to make up for it," he added almost reluctantly. "Apparently it's the least I could do."

* * *

Payson had not stopped talking about the ballet since they left the theatre and began their drive back to Boulder. Her hands flitted around excitedly as she talked almost as though they were re-enacting the performance and she smiled brightly with every word. Sasha couldn't help but share her smile, inserting his own comments when necessary, but mostly letting her do all the talking. He was genuinely pleased to see her looking so happy.

"I'm really glad you enjoyed yourself, Payson," he told her gently as the car pulled up outside her house once again.

"So much," she assured him quietly and held his gaze for a few moments before shyly turning her head away.

He shuddered a little as he stepped out of the car, the cold chill hitting him immediately. "I don't remember it being this cold when we left," he muttered to himself as he quickly circled the car so he could open the door for her. He offered his arm and she laughingly took it while clutching her shawl tight around her shoulders.

"Tonight has been one of the best nights of my life, Sasha," she told him sincerely, stopping in the middle of the garden path.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven for the ballet classes?" he asked her in a tone that was both joking and hopeful.

"Not quite," she replied with a cunning smile, "but you're getting there."

"Well, that's all I could ask for," he answered. Their eyes met once again, and for a few moments they just stood together in the moonlight, trapped in one another's gaze. But moments do not last, and this one was broken as the chill in the air caused Payson to shudder suddenly. Ever the gentleman, Sasha shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

"You don't have to," she told him and moved her hand to remove the jacket. He held it firmly and shook his head. "We're only a few feet from my house," she protested, "I'm sure I can stand the cold for just a few feet."

"No need to find out then," he answered, pulling on her lapels. He glanced up at the sky to avoid her stare, watching the tiny flecks of ice caught in the wind. "It's snowing," he noted as they started to descend, watching as the first flake swayed down and eventually rested itself on the apple of her cheek.

With gentle care – the sort of care you'd expect if one were handling porcelain or fine glass – he brushed the fleck away from her cheek, letting it continue in its descent to the ground. He held his hand to her cheek, and – before his good intentions could have their say – leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

He lingered there for just a second or two, feeling her press back and her lips conform to his, before good sense got the better of him and made him pull away.

"G-good night, Payson," he said quickly as he pulled away and his face flushed with heat.

Payson smiled back, her eyes tentatively meeting his. "Good night, Sasha."

~ to be continued ~

Yay kisses! it's all moving forward, slowly but surely, although don't expect it to be smooth sailing from here on out. Sasha/Payson is all about the drama, and we've got some of that coming right up.

* * *

**Notes:**

Don't forget to check out the girls' dresses in Chapter 8 of the LJ version (linked as homepage on profile). There's also a deleted scene from the next chapter.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Pisicuta: _little cat/kitten, teasing endearment._  
_


	10. Thank Goodness

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Thank Goodness

_Keeler Residence_

"Well, isn't this nice?" Kim said encouragingly, smiling around the table at those gathered for the small Thanksgiving dinner at the Keeler home.

"It really is, Kim," answered Chloe Kmetko. "Isn't that right, kids?" she asked sending pointed looks at Emily and her brother, Brian.

"Thank you, Mrs. Keeler," the two Kmetko children answered in unison, sharing a grin.

"You're welcome," Kim answered brightly, sending a brief look at her own children as though to say 'well at least somebody likes my cooking'. "So, Emily," she said, moving the conversation along, "how did you like the Ballet last night? Payson hasn't stopped raving about it since she got home."

"Oh, I bet," Emily snickered lowly, grinning at her friend's flushing face. "It was very good," she replied politely to Kim. "I'd never been to a modern ballet before, so it was really interesting, and the dancers were just beautiful.

"I think everyone really enjoyed them selves, especially the chance to glam up for the evening," she finished with a laugh. "You should have seen Lauren's dress. It was almost scandalous."

"Indeed," Payson agreed dryly. "I covered my eyes every time she moved just in case something popped out." With the exception of Brian (who was, after all, a sixteen-year-old boy), the table looked mildly disturbed by her description.

"Emily and I looked up that ballerina you guys met," Brian said, directing the comment at Payson. "She's really accomplished, especially for her age. Did you know she's the co-owner of the ballet company?"

"Wow," Payson commented appraisingly. "I knew she choreographed the performance but I didn't realize it was her own company."

"It's pretty incredible," Emily agreed. "She's been in companies all over the world and only recently decided to start out on her own. For four years she was the principle dancer in the Royal Ballet in England," Emily answered, clearly impressed by the young ballerina. "Which is probably how Sasha knows her. They were probably in a lot of the same circles in London."

Both Kim and Payson inwardly cringed at Emily's unwittingly dangerous statement, both turning their heads to Mark Keeler with a sense of dread. There had been a silent agreement amongst the women of the Keeler household that it was probably best not to let Mark know about Sasha Belov's sudden appearance in the country or that the English gymnast had been behind the previous evening's outing. Despite MJ's efforts to placate, Mark still took on a rather frosty demeanour any time that Sasha was mentioned in the same sentence as his daughter.

"Sasha Belov?" Mark asked darkly, an inquiring, but stern look on his face.

"You know what I think we should do?" Chloe interjected suddenly in her usual bright manner, her hands flailing around her expressively. "I think we should do that thing that people always do on TV where everyone goes around the table and we all say what we're thankful for."

You knew it was bad when even Chloe Kmetko noticed the sudden tension in the room.

"I'll go first," she continued eagerly without giving anyone a moment to refute her suggestion. "I am grateful," she said slowly, "that we've all managed to go almost a whole year without any huge drama. I mean, how great is that, right?

"Your turn, Brian," she said, forcing things along.

"Um . . . I'm thankful that Mrs. Keeler invited us to dinner so we didn't have to worry about Mom almost burning down the apartment," he said honestly. "Again."

Becca went next. "I'm _so_ thankful I'm not Payson right now," she laughed, earning herself a tight grimace from her sister and a warning look from her mother. "Still worth it," she grinned.

Kim shook her head. "Well I'm just thankful we all get to spend this time together and everyone's getting along and it's just a really nice time with family and friends," she said laying it on particularly thick and giving Mark pleading looks across the table. "Payson," she said, indicating that it was her turn.

"Oh, you know," Payson said vaguely. "Good will. Peace on earth. That sort of thing."

"Yeah, ditto that," Emily said, raising her hand.

"You know what I just remembered," Payson said, cutting in before her dad could offer his own passive-aggressive version of the holiday tradition. "Emily and I promised Kaylie that we'd stop by her house some time tonight."

"Oh yeah," Emily agreed, nodding her head. Payson stood from her chair and Emily followed suit, smiling apologetically.

"We should really head there now before it gets too late," Payson added.

"Of course, dear," Kim smiled and agreed far more easily than was in her nature. "Don't stay out too long."

"We won't," Payson promised, rushing out of the door with Emily hot on her heels. "I'll drop Emily home when we're done. Bye." They were outside before anyone could say anything about it, the two of them quickly situating themselves in Payson's car.

"Oh god, Pay, I'm so sorry," Emily pleaded, looking painfully contrite after the blunder. "I didn't even think about it. I mean, of course you didn't tell your dad about it – he's completely going to freak."

"Yeah," Payson agreed with a pained smile. "He didn't look very happy about it, did he?" Emily gave a sceptical look that suggested 'not very happy' was, perhaps, an understatement.

"If Sasha had walked through the door I think one look would have been enough to kill him," Emily stated without the slightest trace of amusement or hyperbole.

Payson grimaced and tugged her seatbelt around her. "It's just typical," she groused. "The first guy I meet that I really like, and my dad decides to get all . . . _parental_ about it. I suppose I'm lucky my dad doesn't own a gun.

"What?" she asked, seeing Emily freeze mid-action in a startled expression.

"You just said you liked him," Emily answered cautiously, looking as though she was still trying to comprehend the meaning herself.

"For weeks you've been telling us that you weren't interested and that there was nothing to talk about," Emily continued, gaining confidence as she progressed. "You just said you liked him – that you _really like him_ – so what's changed since yesterday?"

Emily grinned as Payson flushed, seeing her friend turn suddenly flustered and coy. "Oh this must be good," Emily said and leaned her body attentively towards her fellow gymnast.

Payson turned away silently and tried to resist the urge to tell all. She had never really had one of those moments before where something happened and it was so huge you just felt like you had to tell everyone you knew at the first possible opportunity. She was surprised she'd even lasted as long as she had so far given how much she'd already said to her mother and Becca on the subject of her evening with Sasha. She doubted she'd be able to keep it from Emily much longer.

In the end all it took was five words from Emily to break the lock. "I promise I won't tell."

"Sasha kissed me," she blurted out. "I mean, it was probably just because of the moment and it probably doesn't mean anything, but yeah . . . Sasha kissed me," she finished lamely and glanced away awkwardly.

"Sasha kissed you?" Emily repeated, surprise and wonder lacing her tone. "As in . . . Sasha kissed you and you're only telling me this now?" she demanded adamantly. "That should have been the first thing you said to me when I got in the door today.

"How on earth could you go so long without telling anyone?"

Payson shrugged. "I'm good at secrets," she answered vaguely.

"But this is so _huge_," Emily protested. "I don't know how you can sit there looking so calm when . . ." Payson just shrugged again and Emily shook her head.

"Okay, I just have to ask," Emily began, treading carefully, "is Sasha a good kisser?"

The other gymnast rolled her eyes. "So good," Payson replied tightly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "In fact, we're getting married next week. You're all invited and Sasha even asked Marty to be his best man."

"So . . . he's not a good kisser?" Emily guessed.

Payson groaned in frustration, eying the heavens belligerently. "Of _course_ he's a good kisser," she answered exasperatedly. "He's _Sasha Belov_ for gods sakes.

"But it doesn't matter," she continued quickly, her tone becoming disheartened. "It doesn't mean anything. It was just the snow and the moon and . . . I don't know . . . it was the romantic atmosphere. What else was he supposed to do when the forces of nature gang up against him like that?

"We were just . . ." she finished, pausing to find the right phrase, "caught in the moment."

"And?" Emily urged.

"And nothing," Payson insisted. "He's too old for me. He's not right for me. And the only thing he cares about right now is sweeping the Olympics.

"And sometimes a kiss . . . is just a kiss."

* * *

_The Rock Gymnasium_

Sasha groaned as he tossed himself on the bed inside of his trailer, parts of him still frozen from standing in a barn (with no insulation) in next to no clothing for hours on end. He despised Howard with a passion that he had usually only reserved for gymnastics, and cursed every deity he could think of for inflicting him with such a friend. He also cursed certain men's apparel brands that shall remain nameless.

And now he cursed whatever delinquent had chosen to knock upon his door at the ungodly hour of 5pm when he was trying his best to fall asleep and forget anything that had happened since the previous evening. "Unless you're five-three and blonde I'm not interested," he called out. He was secure in his conviction that whoever had decided to interrupt his attempts at sleep was neither blonde nor five foot three, and quite likely not in combination. His money would have been on Austin if not for the fact that the younger gymnast had gone to visit his parents in Florida for some weird, winter solstice type harvest ritual that looked a lot like the typical Thanks Giving dinner except for a few minor oddities.

The knocking stopped, and for a moment Sasha was relieved and allowed himself to relax into the comfort of his bed. But the brief silence was broken by the creak of hinges, the click-clack of stiletto heels against his faux hardwood, laminate floor and a clipped British accent. "Since when have you been so fussy, Sasha?" a familiar voice asked. "Nice . . . 'digs' by the way," she added disdainfully.

Sasha groaned and turned over in his bed, burying his face in his pillow and doing his best to pretend she wasn't really there. "Please go away," he said firmly. "I'm not in the mood for you 'company', MJ."

"Bad day?" she consoled sarcastically. "Some tiny blonde not falling for your indefatigable charms?"

He lifted his head to glare at her. "What do you want, MJ?" he asked tiredly.

MJ's features hardened and any pretended sense of cordiality disappeared. "I want to know what you think you're doing sniffin' around my client," she said darkly. "Her sponsors are . . . concerned," she told him vaguely, explaining the reasons behind her attack. "They think your whole anti-social, gymnastics rebel persona is going to rub off on her, and their pretty little all-American gymnast is going to go from marketable and pure to unapproachable and tarnished.

"And then I have to go an' intercept _this_," she complained, tossing a manila folder at him. It landed open on his bed, scattering an array of photos of him and Payson at the ballet – her looking stunning in her simple beauty and him looking enthralled by her mere presence. "There I was settlin' down to a nice, _quiet_ holiday weekend and then I have deal with cleaning up your messes all over again.

"Just when I thought you were somebody else's problem," she muttered sardonically to herself.

He sat up, flicking lazily through the photos and taking a moment to admire them. It really was one hell of a dress, and Payson looked even more beautiful than she did in his memory. "They're making it out to be something it's not," he insisted. "Austin and the others were there too, so it's not like it was a date."

"It doesn't matter what it is," MJ answered in her blasé manner. "It matters what it looks like. You of all people should know that by now, Sasha.

"If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck," she began in the abstract, "and it holds her hand and gives her meaningful looks like a duck," she said more concretely, stabbing a manicured index finger in the direction of the photos.

"I get the point," he admitted reluctantly, seeing exactly what it looked like. "What do you expect me to do about it, MJ?" he asked rhetorically with a disdainful glare.

"Rich," she muttered with a smirk. "I don't know why I didn't see this coming. This is classic, Type A, Sasha Belov behaviour," she accused sourly. "You're like a little boy who wants a toffee apple just because he knows he can't have it. You see something you want and you're completely blind to anything else around you, and you'll pursue it to the point of relentlessness and insanity no matter the cost.

"This is the reason we ended," she told him. "You're impossible."

He tilted his head, an amused smirk pulling on his features. "And all this time I thought it was because you slept with one of my best friends," he commented blandly.

MJ shook her head, rolling her eyes in frustration. "We were over long before that, Sasha, and you know it," she told him coolly. "That was just the only way I could get through to you."

"Sasha!" a third voice interjected before Sasha could give his scathing reply. Like MJ, Marty barged in without waiting for invitation, striding unwittingly into the uncomfortable scene.

MJ clucked her tongue ironically. "Well isn't this a fun little reunion," she mused sarcastically. "Pleasure as always, Marty."

"I'm sure," Marty replied tightly, clearly not sharing the sentiment.

"You know what, MJ," Sasha said, cutting through the clear tension, "I just remembered I had plans with Marty, so if you don't mind . . ."

MJ snorted amusedly, clearly not believing him. "You're not getting out of here that easily, Sasha," she told him. "You asked how you can help and – to be perfectly frank – you owe me."

"How do _I_ owe _you_, MJ?" Sasha asked coldly.

"I think I have to go with Sasha on this one," Marty echoed in a similarly cool tone.

MJ scoffed at the apparent show of solidarity. "I think you're backing the wrong horse here, Marty," she told him with a taunting lift of her eyebrow. "After all, we do both have _only_ Payson's best interests at heart."

Marty faltered at the undertone of her words, but Sasha could understand. MJ Martin was not someone to make light of, particularly not when it came to the fate and career of an elite athlete like Payson.

"Fine," Sasha relented quietly. "What do you want me to do?"

~ to be continued ~

Was a bit late on the update this week - uni's started back which means I won't have as much time as I like to devote to my writing, what with having to actually do my case readings and what not. I'm gonna be cutting updates down to once a week form now on, and it'll probably be Tuesday morning (my time, therefore Monday afternoon for nearly everyone else), just to give myself a bit a leeway in terms of writing.

Hope you liked that chapter.

* * *

**Notes:**

There's a deleted scene on my LJ for this chapter - just like a random bit between Sasha and a certain men's apparel company that was meant to open this chapter, but didn't make the cut.

* * *

**Translations:**


	11. The Magic of Misdirection

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Magic of Misdirection

_In Touch Weekly – 29 November 2011_

Image left: Payson Keeler seen at University of Colorado game with 'Rock' teammate, Nicholas Russo. Image right: Sasha Belov seen with ex, Erina Vincent, at the premiere of _Rise of the Anarchist_.

**_Wherefore Art Thou Beloved?_**

_Celebrity sightings this weekend were not as expected for famous gymnastics pair, Sasha Belov and Payson Keeler. Payson Keeler was spotted supporting the local Buffaloes at the Colorado-Nebraska College football showdown. Keeler was seen at the game with Nicholas Russo, a fellow gymnast at The Rocky Mountain Gymnasium (affectionately known as simply 'The Rock') in Boulder, Colorado. Russo was linked to fellow gymnast Kaylie Cruz back in 2009, and more recently, Keeler's Denver rival, Kelly Parker. The two were caught on the Stadium's _KISS CAM_ and seemed happy to oblige._

_Two and a half hours away, Sasha Belov was spotted at the Los Angeles premiere of the new action thriller _Rise of the Anarchist_, starring Ryan Gossling and Megan Fox. Belov accompanied actress Erina Vincent down the red carpet, who played a minor role as Gossling's autistic sister at the heart of the drama. Vincent and Belov had a brief affair earlier this year, but it looks as though things might have been rekindled of late and his presence did not go unnoticed at the premiere._

_These sightings clearly remove all hope for those that had been rooting to see Belov and Keeler pair off before the Olympic Games next July. Belov, whose presence in the country had been kept very cloak and dagger, seems to have made a special trip to be with Vincent for this special premiere. While their reported romance earlier this year seemed to fizzle out due to their work commitments, both are currently free from the obligations that might have kept them apart. Belov is not due to compete again until . . ._

* * *

_Rocky Mountain Gymnasium – Boulder, Colorado._

"Should we tell Payson?" Lauren asked seriously, glancing down at the magazine pictures, and then back up at her friends. The three of them – Lauren, Kaylie, and Emily – were huddled over the latest issue of _In Touch Weekly_ poring over an article featuring their best friend and her potential love interest.

Emily frowned and shrugged her shoulders. "Is there anything to tell?" she asked. "I mean, they're just making guesses from what they know. There isn't anything concrete and some of the information they're relying on is obviously wrong.

"Like him being in America for the premiere," she said, pointing to a particular paragraph in the article. "They think he _only_ got here Saturday and went straight to LA, but he was in Boulder for four days before they even knew he was in the country. Clearly these guys aren't all that good at their job."

"Good point," Lauren nodded in agreement. "And they're totally making way too big a deal out of that KISS CAM thing – it was barely even a kiss on the cheek.

"But what if he really is getting back together with his ex?" she added more concernedly, "Shouldn't we warn her?"

"Warn her about what?" Emily countered. "We've got nothing to go by but these pictures and they don't even look particularly couple-ly. The only evidence we have of anything is a gossip magazine."

"Besides," Kaylie cut in to reinforce Emily's argument against telling Payson, "it says she's with Nicky, so why would she even care? Didn't she already tell us she wasn't interested in him?"

Lauren rolled her eyes and gave Kaylie a dry, sanctimonious look. "She is so not with Nicky," she stated plainly, annoyed that clearly hadn't listened to a word she said. "Who in their right mind would want Nicky Russo when they could have _Sasha Belov_? Why wouldn't she be interested?"

Emily nodded her agreement, looking slightly pained for having to agree with Lauren. "It all looks a bit too much of a coincidence to me," she added. "I mean, they both get photographed with other people on the _same_ weekend? I wouldn't be all that surprised if MJ was involved in this."

Kaylie shrugged, taking a second look at the piece. She had to admit that it had MJ Martin written all over it – this was exactly her MO and anyone who knew better would probably see right through it. Knowing how the business worked, Payson's agent had probably set up the KISS CAM herself.

"So what do we do?" Lauren asked, forcing the little pow-wow to reach some sort of conclusion. "We just . . . pretend we didn't see this?" she suggested seriously, lifting the evidence in her hands.

"Just . . . don't say anything unless Payson says something first," Emily finally suggested. She bit her lip and glanced nervously towards where her friend was working on her new floor choreography with their coach.

"Do you think maybe she knows already?" Lauren asked and let her gaze follow Emily's. "She has been kinda snippy all day. Maybe she's just lashing out to hide the heartache."

Kaylie snorted back a laugh. "This is Payson we're talking about, Lo," she reminded her friend. "Payson doesn't do heartache.

"And my money's still on Nicky," she said, pulling on her grips in order to indicate that the conversation was coming to a close. "Sasha's too old for her. And their personalities totally clash. He's all, like, serious and has this whole bad boy thing going on. She needs someone sweet like Nicky, who shares her values and has all the same beliefs."

"Sounds kinda dull to me," Lauren scoffed disdainfully. "Thoughts, Kmetko?" she said looking to Emily to break the tie.

Emily shrugged. "It's up to Payson," she answered vaguely. "Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to judge either way."

"But if you _had_ to pick . . ." Lauren insisted, wheedling a choice out of Emily.

The other gymnast sighed and reluctantly chose, knowing well enough that Lauren would not quit until she did so. "I guess I'd pick Sasha," she admitted, "but only because . . . I don't know." She trailed off, realizing not a moment too soon that she had almost given away Payson's secret. She quickly improvised a reason for her choice that had nothing to do with Payson liking Sasha a lot more than she was letting on to their two friends.

"Don't you think she's a little out of Nicky's league?" Emily asked with a grimace, feeling only a little bad for what she was about to say about Nicky. "Payson's the number one gymnast in the world," she intoned seriously. "Nicky's not even number one in this gym."

"I didn't think of that," Lauren gasped excitedly, happy to have another reason to support her OTP. "I'm gonna go talk to Payson," she declared as she saw Payson finishing up with Marty.

"Lauren, remember what we said," Kaylie warned as the blonde walked away.

"Yeah, yeah," she waved off.

"Why do I feel like nothing we said to her even mattered?" Emily questioned aloud as she narrowed her eyes at Lauren's receding figure.

"You know Lauren," Kaylie shrugged. "She's not after advice; just accomplices."

* * *

Payson had seen the three of them huddled together from the corner of her eye. She'd seen the furtive glances they kept sending her way, and the sense she had that they were convening behind her back was only heightened as Lauren began a purposeful stride towards her. There was a familiar look in Lauren's eye – the sort of look that Lauren got when she had a secret she was just dying to tell, only Lauren was really bad at secrets and liked to pretend she wasn't by forcing you to get the truth out of her, even when you had no interest in whatever gossip Lauren wished to expel.

"So, Payson," Lauren began cordially enough, "read anything interesting lately?"

Payson blinked at the strange and seemingly innocuous question. She tried to figure out whether it was some kind of trick question, but she could see nothing hidden in it that Lauren could possibly be trying to extract from her. "Well I just finished **_Mother Tongue_**," she answered nonchalantly. "It was really interesting, although I'm not sure I agree to him on some of the stuff he said about English being superior to all other languages. Not when the German's have a word like _Backpfeifengesicht_."

Lauren scowled, clearly unimpressed by Payson's witty repartee. "And how's Sasha?" she asked trying a different route.

Payson frowned and took a moment to craft a more careful answer. She looked briefly towards Emily, wondering if the other gymnast had shared the details of her secret kiss, but she was fairly certain that Lauren was the last person that Emily would gossip with and Emily had given her word that it wouldn't go beyond the two of them.

"You know he went to LA for some media work," she answered. "He must have gotten back this morning, because his trucks back in the parking lot, but I haven't seen him since last Wednesday." She decided not to mention to Lauren that they had been in contact via text, especially as the conversations were innocent enough not to warrant Lauren's attention. She was starting to realize there was quite a lot people didn't know about her interactions with Sasha.

"I wonder what he was doing in LA?" Lauren asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Knowing Lauren as well as she did, Payson could sense almost implicitly when the other blonde was fishing for information and when a comment was sent out to bait her.

"Probably the same sort of things we do," she shrugged vaguely. "Photo shoots, social gatherings, cameos. Maybe even the odd movie premiere given his level of celebrity."

The smile on Lauren's face widened almost cruelly. "I bet he knows heaps of people in LA," she smiled. "Didn't he used to date an actress?

"What was her name?" she asked herself aloud, looking emptily into the air and testing names silently on her lips as though it was just on the tip of her tongue.

"I don't know, Lauren," Payson replied tiredly with annoyance creeping into her voice as Lauren drew out her little game of show and tell. "You know I don't keep track of any of the celebrity gossip around. I barely know whose seeing who at the gym. You've always been better caught up on that sort of thing."

Lauren preened a little at what she saw to be a compliment and what Payson saw to be neutral at best. "Yeah, but I'm not the one whose practically seeing the guy," Lauren argued back encouragingly. "You're the one who'd know if he was meeting up with someone in LA."

_'So that was it,'_ Payson realized as Lauren revealed her cards with a sympathetic smile. Sasha had been seen with someone in LA – some actress ex-girlfriend apparently from all the hints Lauren had been dropping – and Lauren was trying to gauge her reaction and get all the latest gossip before everyone else. It wasn't deliberately cruel like the Lauren of two years ago would have tried, but more unthinkingly hurtful like the Lauren who was too intent on getting what she wanted to think about what her words and actions might do to others.

She kept her face neutral because this was what Lauren wanted. She wasn't after shock or some over-blown emotional display of heartache. Lauren was practically Head Cheerleader of the Payson-Sasha Fan Club and what she wanted to hear right now was that the photos were just some ruse to get everyone off the scent and to hide their secret, burgeoning romance from those who weren't in the know.

"I suppose I would," Payson answered vaguely, crafting her reply to Lauren's purpose. She walked away to the locker rooms to change without saying more and left Lauren to draw her own conclusions from that.

Oh she felt like such a fool. Despite her own insistence, she'd let herself believe that she and Sasha were something more. More than what, she wasn't sure, but it was something.

But she was mistaken. If he was visiting ex-girlfriends in LA, then she had clearly been a fool to think anything of the brief moments that occurred between them. She had let herself jump to all kinds of ridiculous romantic notions grounded in nothing but fantasy.

_'Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss,'_ she echoed sadly to herself as she pushed out of the gym into the overcast grey car park.

"Payson!"

_'Speak of the devil,'_ she thought to herself as she turned at the sound of her name. She forced a smile as she made herself walk the short distance between herself and Sasha, who stood in the door of his trailer eating a bowl of cereal.

"How are you, Payson?" he asked warmly, smiling a smile she had found so charming a week ago and which – much to her dismay – continued to charm her now, even as a small part of her urged her to cause him physical pain and suffering with his own spoon.

"Good," she answered in a clipped manner. She grimaced slightly before shifting the topic to something that she could talk to him about with a more genuine smile. "Jayden came by on Monday and we started working on new choreography for my floor routine."

"That's great," he responded before shoving a spoon of cereal in his mouth. "How was your ballet class today?" he asked hopefully, swallowing quickly so he didn't have to talk around a mouthful of shredded wheat.

Her eyes narrowed and a cry of frustration escaped her lips. It was one thing to force pleasantries about her gymnastics, but she wasn't in the mood to play nice, and certainly not about this. "I tried to be good at this," she complained moodily. "I even apologized for not putting in more effort and she still treats me like a circus freak, and I still feel like the most uncoordinated person in the world. And now I have to go to an extra class this afternoon to make up for 'those in which I was merely physically present'," she finished pompously, obviously imitating the words of her instructor.

"Payson," he began consolingly, putting his bowl aside and moving forward so he could take her hand in his own. She crossed her arms to prevent him from doing so and to form a sort of barrier between them. He sighed in vexation but continued, "Payson, I know that you don't want to be wasting your time with ballet when you feel you could be getting so much more value out of refining your gymnastics skills. And I know there's at least a small part of you that's uncomfortable with this sort of thing, but I hope you realize that this is only going to make you better in the end," he insisted.

"Trust me, Payson," he assured her, not seeming to notice the way her eyes narrowed and her jaw tensed at his words, "you'll be a more complete gymnast and every one of your routines will be enhanced for this small effort. You just need to keep your mind on why this matters – it's all for the Olympics."

"You weren't there, Sasha," she protested childishly, crossing her arms more tightly over her form. "You weren't just poked and prodded for three hours and told that you have about as much prowess for ballet as Quasimodo. You're not the one who has to spend her mornings with Mistress Viola who is mean, and rude, and," she continued, flailing for a moment as she searched for the right word. "Mean," she finished crossly, dropping her hands dramatically to her sides.

"It's easy for you to just stand there telling me what to do and spouting your inspiration drivel," she told him bitterly, "but you're not the one who has to do any of this."

He balked a little at the sudden show of temper, seeing a side of Payson that he hadn't encountered before. Due to better sense, he refrained from rolling his eyes at the teenage temper tantrum (of which he'd performed his fair share of at the same age), but that didn't stop the disbelief from flashing across his features. "Payson, where are you going?" he asked as she turned and walked away from him and headed towards her car.

"I have to go buy a new leotard for this afternoon," she answered without looking back. "Apparently my current leotard is unflattering to my body type."

He could sense the grimace on her face even though he couldn't see it. "And another thing," she added, turning back as she roughly tossed her gym bag into the back seat, "I don't care if your face is on the box – who eats cereal at one o'clock in the afternoon?"

Sasha frowned as she slammed the door and situated herself in the driver's seat, before driving away in the most aggressive manner he had ever seen. He wondered what on earth he could have done to annoy what all his previous encounters told him was a sweet and even-tempered young woman.

"But I'm not on the cereal box," he protested weakly even though there was nobody there to hear him.

He was really going to have to do something about that.

~ to be continued ~

Almost forgot to post this today, but remembered just in time, although I haven't done a proper proof read yet so there were probably some typos and the like. Now you've got a clear standing on where the rebels all stand: Lauren is definitely Team Sasha, Emily is Team Whatever-Makes-You-Happy, and Kaylie is Team Get-That-Man-Away-From-My-Daughter, although with a slight variation.

* * *

**Notes:**

Mother Tongue - Bill Bryson. I love his books even if some of the stuff in it gets a bit oversimplified or he makes broad generalizations in order to have mass appeal, but it's just so darn readable.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Backpfeifengesicht: _According to Adam Hill's definition of his top three german words (with Schiessen Bedaun and Schadenfreude completing the list) it means 'a face sorely in need of a fist'. Honestly, how on earth could English be a superior to a language with such a word in it?


	12. The Unexamined Life of Mistress Viola

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Unexamined Life of Mistress Viola

_Mistress Viola's Studio of Classical and Modern Ballet – Boulder, Colorado_

Viola Pettinger was a formidable woman with more than forty years of ballet experience behind – eight of which were spent under the harsh governess of **Haberdashers' Monmouth School for Girls**. She was a woman who took what she did very seriously and expected others to follow her lead.

"Mistress Viola," Payson pleaded, grimacing as her English ballet instructor circled the room, carefully examining her as she stood frozen in third position with her ankles crossed and one arm above her head and the other extended to the side. "I am trying," she promised, holding still in everything but her face. "I'm just . . . not a ballerina."

"Oh I can see that," Mistress Viola replied blandly, "but you will be when I'm done with you.

"You may relax now, Miss Keeler," she said, seemingly happy with her form.

"Ah," she said, turning away. "So he finally arrives to grace us with his presence. What time do you call this, Master Belov?"

Payson turned her head quickly in the direction the entrance; shock alight on her features as she faced a sheepish looking Sasha in a blue shirt and black ballet tights. "My apologies for the tardiness, Vee," he answered her. "I –"

"Mistress Viola," she corrected with a chastising look. "Proceed."

He suppressed a laugh and continued his explanation. "I had some difficulties finding appropriate attire," he told her and added cheekily, "Like a fool I left all my best leotards at home." The line of ballerinas – ranging from twelve to fifteen – tittered girlishly, hiding their smiles behind their hands as they silently appraised the newcomer.

"I can see as much myself," Viola appraised darkly. "Everyone take your positions at the barre," she commanded, clapping her hands twice in staccato. The ballerinas flocked to the barre, Payson and Sasha following behind and taking their places wherever space allowed.

"What are you doing here?" Payson whispered quietly over her shoulder as she swept her free arm out beside her and dipped low in unison with the other girls.

"I thought about what you said," he whispered back, leaning slightly forward. "You were right, Payson. It's easy for me to stand back and give advice when I don't have to be here myself. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologise," she replied as she raised her arm above her head and dropped it back down in front of her. She frowned guiltily and watched her moving arm to avoid his gaze. "I was just being a cow and taking my frustration out on you when you didn't deserve it."

Sasha smiled and took a step forward, meeting her hand with his own as she swept it out to the side once again. She could do nothing but watch their hands as he threaded his fingers through hers. "I want to," he told her lowly in her ear.

"I want to be here, Payson," he promised gently, his thumb moving gently against her palm. "I want you to know that you're not alone in this, and anytime you need me, I'll be there."

"None of that," Viola cut in tersely before Payson could form a reply. She struck Sasha twice with her cane, forcing him to drop Payson's hand and return to his proper position by the barre. "If you're just here to try and seduce my ballerinas and interrupt my lesson, then you can be on your way, Master Belov."

The class of young ballerinas tittered jealously as Payson flushed with embarrassment. She cautioned a glance back at Sasha to check his reaction, but he just smiled warmly in return and held out his free arm in an ungainly second position.

"You are making quite the nuisance of yourself today," Viola groused blandly, drawing her fists pointedly to her hips. "First interrupting my lesson and distracting my ballerina with your highly improper advances. And now you offend my senses with those . . . chicken wings of yours."

She tapped her cane on the ground indicating for her pupils to change direction, smiling almost sadistically at Sasha's brief moment of disorientation as he turned his back on Payson. "You look like a robot trying to perform the Macarena," she declared disdainfully. "I don't know what your instructors have taught in the past, but this is ballet, Master Belov, and it is not to be taken lightly.

"Now, Payson," she continued, her tone softening slightly. "Your form is actually quite lovely," she commented, only the slightest note of surprise in her voice. "If you could please show Master Belov the _proper_ way to perform a _grand pile_."

Payson nodded her head gently and bent low into a _grand pile_, sweeping her arm down and up with her movements. As Viola nodded in approval, she sent Sasha a challenging look and slightly superior smile.

"You cheeky brat," he whispered teasingly over his shoulder as he took his position once again, keeping his voice low so as not to garner more of Mistress Viola's attention. He worked hard to quell the urge to just drag her towards him and kiss the smug smile off her lips, knowing that Viola would certainly not approve of him disrupting her class in such a manner.

She poked her tongue out at him in response, fulfilling his teasing endearment. His heart warmed as she smiled genuinely, even as she immersed herself in her least favourite activity.

* * *

"I always seem to be thanking you," Payson noted, collecting her things in her gym bag as the other ballerinas filed out of the studio. Sasha, who was crouched nearby doing the same, laughed at the slight pout, shaking his head.

"I honestly don't mind, Payson," he assured her with a warm smile. "It's better than being on your bad side."

Payson cringed, looking both guilty and embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Sasha," she apologised again. "I feel like such a child for taking it out on you like that."

"It's fine, Payson," he consoled her. "You could always make it up to me," he added with a flirtatious wink.

"We could go to dinner?" she suggested, trying to hold back some of the eagerness from her voice. "My treat?" she said with a hopeful shrug. "I mean, if you're not doing anything."

His expression fell a little and he shook his head. "As appealing an offer as that sounds, I'm going to have to take a rain check. I think Mistress Viola wants a word with me," he told her with a worried glance in the direction of their instructor.

"I'm not surprised," Payson giggled, politely hiding her grin from their surveying tutor. "I think you are officially the worst pupil in the class."

"Only room for improvement," he answered wittily with a charmingly boyish grin, shrugging his shoulders as he rose to his feet.

She shook her head at his endearing expression, rolling her eyes to the heavens for answers. He was far too incorrigible for his own good sometimes.

"Will I see you tomorrow at the gym?" she asked, clawing for any shred of conversation that would allow her to spend just a few moments more with Sasha before she had to leave.

"I'm here 'til Sunday," he nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she replied with a small smile. She quickly stepped forward and raised herself on the balls of her feet so as to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Her hands held tightly against his shoulders to anchor herself, the heat from his body seeping warmly into her palms.

"I'll see you then," he echoed as she pushed away, waving a quick goodbye as he watched her walk elegantly away from him.

"She's very young," were the first words Viola had to say once Payson had left the room.

Sasha grimaced painfully and rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't criticising, Alexandru," Viola continued, recognizing his expression, "just observing.

"She's also very beautiful," she noted, "but I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. You always did have your way with women. Particularly beautiful women.

"What I will criticize," she continued more sternly, "is the way you shamelessly flirt with that girl. Honestly, Alexandru," she chastised, "I know for a fact your mother taught you better than that."

Sasha huffed indignantly. "I _do not _shamelessly flirt with her," he insisted.

Viola gave him a dry look. "You do," she disagreed. "And the way she flirts with you is quite nearly as shameless."

"We're just friends," he protested, the words seeming less and less genuine every time he said them. Viola scoffed as so many had before her.

"Is that how you say goodbye to all your friends?" Viola quipped sceptically. "With a kiss on the cheek and a longing stare?"

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "It's good to see you too, Aunt Vee," he muttered sarcastically. Viola tapped him pointedly with her cane, inflicting further damage on her good-for-nothing godson.

"I told you not to call me that, Alexandru," she warned. "It makes me sound old."

"Was there something in particular you wanted, _Aunt Vee_?" he asked indignantly, deliberately emphasising the unnecessary honorific he attached to her name.

Viola ignored his childish behaviour and proceeded as though he had responded in a more appropriate manner. "I thought you might want to talk about Payson."

Sasha groaned in frustration. "For the last time," he ground out, "I'm not seeing her and there is nothing going on there. And I don't need one more person warning me away from her and telling me I'm wrong for her.

"I get it," he ejaculated, throwing his hands in the air. "She's too young; too smart; too _American_. Just . . . too good for me. Just pick your poison, because I can guarantee it's nothing I haven't heard already," he finished tiredly, lowering her head in defeat.

"Are you about done now, Alexandru?" Viola asked as he concluded his rant, giving him a dry look. "I thought we might take the time to talk about Payson's progress in my class."

Sasha flushed, looking uncharacteristically flustered as he let out an apologetic "oh".

"As I was saying," Viola continued, "Payson has been much better today, especially this afternoon. Despite your own inelegance," she continued with a lilt of disdain, "you actually seem to bring out the best in her," she noted with surprise.

"Good to know I'm good for something other than disrupting your lessons and offending your senses," Sasha answered with a grimace.

Viola gave him an almost patronizing smile, patting his cheek affectionately. "You did ask for it, Alexandru," she reminded him. "And I know those terrible movements of yours weren't just for show. When was the last time you practiced?" She raised her cane off the ground, and Sasha began to instinctively back away.

"Not long ago," he answered vaguely.

"But longer than you'd admit," she replied sternly. "Which would explain why you looked like a barrel of monkeys piece spooning a hippo."

He opened his mouth to protest against her 'spooning a hippo' analogy, but Viola silenced him with another affection pat to his cheek. "Kiss," she said, pointing to her own cheek, and he responded automatically, ducking to kiss her cheek. "I'd ask you to come visit me before you go," she said as she distractedly picked imaginary fluff off his shirt, "but I imagine you're probably all booked up until then."

"I can always make time for my favourite aunt," he disagreed with a boyish grin that earned him a dry look. "You know I won't go without saying goodbye, Vee," he assured her more seriously. "I'll give you a call – we'll organize something before I go, okay?"

She nodded her agreement and he gave her a quick a hug before he slung his bag over his shoulder and moved towards the exit.

"Sasha," Viola said, calling him back before he left. "If it helps . . . I think your mother would have really liked this one."

Sasha shrugged his shoulders, but felt a smile pull on his lips at her encouragement. "Mama liked everyone," he answered, his eyes clouding nostalgically. "You always said that was her best and worst quality."

Viola smiled at the shared memory, shaking her head as she recalled some past incident that proved her point. "Well," she said slowly, "I think I might like her too."

Sasha smiled warmly and turned away. "I think I do too."

~ to be continued ~

Actually remembered early this time. When I started writing this, one thing I really wanted to do was keep all the important shippy moments from canon and I guess just turn it up a notch. Hopefully it still worked, but I'll let you all decide.

* * *

**Notes:**

Viola Pettinger: In the show, Viola and Sasha seemed to know each other - although maybe it's part of the impression people get that any two people from the same country _must_ know each other - and I decided to expand on it a little and make her Sasha's mother's best friend whom she went to boarding school with. The HMS for Girls was supposed to be a bit of a hint, although perhaps a little too subtle - the school is in Wales and if you've memorized the second chapter of 16x8 Feet you'll recall that it said Sasha's mother was from Cardiff. I thought I'd be nice and give Sasha that motherly figure seeing as he obviously doesn't have that surrogate relationship with Kim anymore.

"And the way she flirts with you is quite nearly as shameless.": Somewhat paraphrased/inspired/tweaked from Oscar Wilde's _The Importance of Being Earnest_.

* * *

**Translations:**


	13. Fortune's Fool

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Fortune's Fool

_The Rock Gymnasium Annex_

Payson groaned in frustration, falling pointedly down to the floor in an ungraceful pile of ungainly limbs. She watched as Sasha dismounted flawlessly from the parallel bars, cutting his routine short. A small part of couldn't help but feel jealous at how easy Sasha made it look, even though she knew he put as much into his gymnastics as she did.

"What's wrong, _dragă_?" he asked, moving from the parallel bars set up at the far side of the annex building to the edge of where she was practicing. She smiled a little at the pet name, but it wasn't enough to quell her frustration.

She sighed loudly, looking up at the tall blonde gymnast from her position – legs crumpled under her and arms slack at the front. "I'm just getting a mental block on my floor," she answered. "I mean, it's all technically sound but . . . I don't really know how to explain it," she said with a frown. "Something about it just doesn't feel right?

"Does that even make sense?" she asked, shaking her head at her inability to put it into words.

"Probably not to anyone else, but yeah," he answered with a small laugh. "It's like everything is there, but you know you can do better. It's missing that connecting fibre."

"Exactly," she nodded with a breath of relief. "It just feels sort of . . . empty right now and I don't know what I need to do to fix it."

He sat down beside her, legs bent in front of him and elbows rested on his knees. He paused thoughtfully before bumping his shoulder against hers with a wide grin. "Lucky for you, I know just what to do about it," he told her happily.

"Yeah?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at him suspiciously.

"Yeah," he nodded, scrambling to his feet. He held a hand out towards and looked suddenly very serious. "Do you trust me, Payson Keeler?"

She gave a dry scoff and shook her head. Sasha pouted. "Not even a little?" he asked with an exaggerated, pleading grin and wiggled he fingers on his hand invitingly. She sighed dramatically and placed her hand loosely in his, ignoring the spark of electricity as best she could as he pulled her to her feet.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, showing a bit more confidence in him than she had been making out.

"Field trip," he answered with a boyish grin. Payson looked unconvinced by his enthusiasm, her willingness turning to a worried frown.

"Sasha, I don't think either of us can afford to be going on a field trip right now," she told him concernedly. "We're less than eight months from the Olympics and this is the last cycle for both of us."

He saw the sense in her words, but was already prepared to argue against it. Payson was, after all, a lot like him when it came to gymnastics, and so all he had to do to bring her around to his side was think of what arguments would satiate him if he were in her position. "You can't just force your way through a block like this, Payson," he argued, holding her shoulders. "You'll just be going through the motions.

"You need a change of scenery to think things through and work out how to fix it," he assured her. "Then we can come back and do exactly what needs to be done. I'll go talk to Marty and tell him you're staying late. That way we can have the whole gym to ourselves.

"I'm not really surprised you're blocked in such a small space," he added as an aside.

"It's cosy," Payson shrugged vaguely. "And I guess I just feel more comfortable doing this stuff in front you," she said, referring to the dance elements, "than I do in front of everyone else. You've already seen me do ballet, so it couldn't possibly get worse, right?"

"Lucky me," he mused without even the slightest hint of sarcasm or irony. "I'll go talk to Marty. You change and I'll meet you outside in ten minutes?"

"Make it twenty," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I'm not going anywhere with you unless you shower first." She pushed him away with a sniff of disdain and small teasing smile.

"And we're taking my car," she added as she walked away. "Which means I get to pick the music."

Sasha groaned painfully.

* * *

_Denver Zoo _

Payson smiled as she watched the group of black and white birds gather at the precipice, their natural instincts warning them of an unseen danger that didn't exist here in captivity. She knew in a moment one would take that necessary leap of faith, and the others would all follow in once it was clear that the rest of them would be safe. Despite the morbidity, she always found it rather adorable.

"So what made you pick the zoo?" she asked, turning around and leaning against the railing once the penguins had completed their ritual.

Sasha shrugged his shoulders and tucked his hands into the pockets of his grey woollen pea coat – something he'd been forced to purchase once he realized how bloody cold it was in Boulder compared to London at the same time of year. Payson was similarly equipped for the cold in a high-collared, knee-length red coat with a large tartan pattern. She had plaited her wet hair in pigtails either side of her head, which for some reason made him think of _Madeline_.

When she tilted her head at him, he finally cautioned an answer for explaining their destination. "Whenever I have a problem or I just need to clear my head, the rings are the only place I can think," he began. "Unless I have to think about gymnastics," he added to quell her curious looks, "then I have to be around animals.

"I thought you might like the penguins," he finished sheepishly.

"Have you been googling again?" she teased.

"Didn't have the time," he quipped, "so I had to go with my instincts this time. I just thought they suited you in a way."

"How so?" she asked, genuinely curious to find out what analogy he had made.

"I'm not really sure," he said, shaking his head. "I suppose they were probably just the first animal I thought of."

She smiled thoughtfully as she turned back to face the penguins, resting her arms against the railing and her face close to the glass. "You should trust your instincts more often," she told him quietly, watching as the penguins swam by her in graceful loops, dipping above the surface every so often for air.

"Well," Sasha said, leaning on the bar beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own, "if my instincts are right, I think I might just know how to solve your gymnastics problem."

She inclined more towards him, silently urging him to continue. "You look beautiful out there, Payson," he told her softly. "Your technique . . . your artistry . . . it's perfect. But you're still missing one crucial element – your story.

"It's that connection you had with your routine at Worlds," he explained. "It was like . . . it was like your body was singing," he said affectionately, frowning a little for want of a better phrasing. "It's like you're on a journey and you need to make the audience want to follow you.

"Am I making sense?" he asked, coming back a little.

"Perfectly," she assured him. She always understood exactly what he was saying, no matter how abstract he got or how caught up he got in his own thoughts. She even understood what he was trying to say when he told her 'her body was singing'.

"It's harder with this," she frowned, turning her gaze back to the penguins floating past her. "I can't just think about the lyrics and try to convey those to the audience. There's nothing there for me to work from."

"Then you'll just have to supply your own story," he told her with a shrug and an easy smile. "You just need to think about the story you want to tell."

"Hmm," she agreed thoughtfully, her mind going through old fairy tales and the like for the story she wanted to tell in her routine.

"C'mon," Sasha said, taking her gloved hand in his. "Let's go see the turtles. I've always liked turtles for some reason."

Payson laughed and let Sasha pull her away in the direction of the amphibians. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, feigning offence.

"Oh nothing," she smiled, pulling slightly a head of him. "They just seem to suit you."

"Yeah?" he asked suspiciously, clearly unimpressed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "You're both pretty slow," she said before suddenly pushing away from him and racing towards a long, darkened tunnel.

"You can't get away from me that easily, _pisicuţă_," he laughed, immediately giving chase.

Although not too quickly. How else was he supposed to let her win?

* * *

_The Rock_

"Did you think of a story?" Sasha asked as the two stood alone in the gym, her in her purple leotard and him a jumper and jeans.

She nodded, a shy smile on her lips as she revealed it to him. "I know it's silly, but I've always loved _Romeo and Juliet_," she admitted. The tale of the star-crossed lovers had always been a favourite of hers, but truthfully she had picked it because it sort of seemed to fit them.

He was Romeo, a noble gentleman from her rival house whom she found herself besotted with; she was naïve Juliet with the entire Capulet household out to protect her. Austin was Tybalt. Marty Mercutio. Lauren could be the Nurse – _'no, the friar'_ she thought with a wicked smile – and MJ the faceless Rosalind. They were drawn together by fate, but destined to remain apart.

Sasha smiled approvingly of her choice. _"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet,_" he said with a flourish in her direction, _"is the Sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou art_," he paused, swallowing thickly on his words, _"that thou art more fair than she."_

"Ay me," she responded softly, sharing a smile as she took her place in the centre of the floor. Once he was sure she was in position, he started the music, Tchaikovsky's symphony ringing through the gym.

She rose from the centre, blossoming like a flower and moving gracefully through out the floor space. She moved from a _fouetté_ _jete_ to a powerful somersault as though there were nothing the slightest bit incompatible about the two elements, and through a slightly adapted _grande sissone ouverte_ from a _demi-pilé_. She twirled and she tumbled like she had been doing both since birth, and as though both were so natural to her she could hardly do one without the other.

And the story. He could feel it in her every move. The first time she saw him; their first kiss; the people against them; the struggle just to be together. It was like she _was_ Juliet, and this was her story to tell.

She finished as she began, her body low in the centre of the floor. She lifted her head first, a bright smile on her face, before rising to her feet. She knew before he even said the words that this was the thing they had been searching for.

"That was it," he said breathlessly, completely taken aback by her performance. "That was fantastic," he said as he stepped into the floor. He pulled her into a congratulatory hug, lifting her off the ground as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and swinging her around in a full circle.

"What you just did," he awed as he placed her firmly back on the ground. "The story you told . . . It was inspired."

"It's you, Sasha," she told him gratefully. "At Worlds and ballet and here at The Rock . . . you inspire me."

"You give me too much credit," he protested, bashfully glancing away.

"And you give yourself too little," she answered lowly, cupping his face in her hand and forcing him to look her way. Their eyes met and an electrical current – one that had been right there from the start – coiled between them. He didn't say a word, but he didn't look away from her, holding her steady gaze in his own.

And with that she threw caution to the wind.

And kissed him.

~ to be continued ~

Let's see him try to push her away this time.

* * *

**Notes:**

Act 2: Scene 2 obviously. It's weird, but so many of my stories seem to end up in the star cross'd lovers trope, even when I don't intend it.

* * *

**Translations:**

_draga_: love, honey, darling  
_pisicuţă:_ pussy cat, teasing endearment


	14. Just Say Yes

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Just Say Yes

_"It's you, Sasha. You inspire me."_

_And with that she threw caution to the wind._

_And kissed him._

* * *

And he kissed back.

Because . . . because he didn't know why. All he knew was that he was kissing Payson Keeler and it was exactly where he wanted to be in that moment. Nothing had ever felt so right in his life.

Although Payson had initiated the kiss, he took control within moments, dragging her bottom lip between his own and running his tongue along the seam of her lips until they opened for him, allowing him to kiss her more deeply. He held tight to her waist as she clung to his shoulders, her hands fisting into his shirt.

And then his mind started to work all on its own accord, reminding him of all the reasons he _shouldn't_ be kissing Payson Keeler and how it was all going to lead to one thing that he shouldn't be leading her to right now. A stronger man would have resisted right from the start, but Sasha was not that man, and he could barely summon the strength to disengage her. He was only human and Payson – beautiful, determined, witty, intelligent Payson – was irresistible.

"Payson, we can't," he said reluctantly as he pushed her away. Every inch of him longed to pull her back, but he knew it was wrong. He knew they couldn't keep going.

Her eyes widened with shock, as though she was suddenly realizing what she was doing, and then she ran right past him, leaving him calling her name behind her.

"Payson, wait!" he called, stopping only to grab his jacket as he chased her out of the gym. He found her waiting just outside of the gym doors, staring thoughtfully at the snow-covered asphalt as she seriously contemplated how far she could make it before she was forced to turn back and face him.

"Payson, please," he begged. She gave him a frightened look and her body tensed like she was getting ready to make a run for it despite the likelihood of freezing solid in her attempt to escape. He took her hand in his own, forcing her stay with him. "We need to talk about this," he told her quietly as he slung his jacket over her shoulders.

"No we don't," she protested. "We just need to forget it even happened. I've ruined everything."

"Of course you haven't," he argued against her. "And we can't just forget that it happened.

"Please can we just talk about this?" he pleaded. "We can go over to my trailer and I'll make you a hot drink to warm you up, and we can talk about this like adults."

Payson gave him a dry look, her lips quirking sarcastically. "And how do you expect to get there?" she asked with a gesture to her scant attire.

"I'll carry you," he answered. He swept her up into his arms a second later, without giving her a moment to comprehend what he meant to do. He jogged briskly across the parking lot so that she wouldn't be exposed to the cold any longer than she had to be and took the three steps up to the landing in one go. He carefully maneuverer her in his arms to get the door, and headed straight to the far end, depositing her in his unmade bed and pulling the duvet over her chilled body.

"Okay, do you want tea or coffee?" he asked, not immediately wishing to address the situation.

"Tea," she answered from her cosy position. "Milk and one sugar please." She sat up in the bed, draping the warm duvet around her shoulders and pulling all her limbs close to regain heat faster. He busied himself with their two drinks, bringing them over when he was done and sitting beside her on the end of the bed. She nervously scooted her way up towards the headboard, avoiding any form of contact.

He sighed tiredly, placing the two drinks on the nightstand. "Payson –"

"Can we please just forget about it?" she pleaded, cutting him off. "Obviously I completely misread the situation and did something really stupid. Can we just put it all down to being in the moment and forget about it?"

Sasha shook his head. "You didn't," he argued. "I mean, you didn't misread things. Believe me, this would be so much easier if you had," he added morosely.

"I really like you, Payson," he told her. He frowned, realizing immediately how the words sounded. It made it sound like he was trying to let her down gently – that was how truly inadequate the word 'like' was to describe how he was feeling about her. He cursed that English was one of the few languages in the world that didn't make a distinction between romantic liking and platonic liking.

"Christ, I don't even know how to say this," he complained to himself shaking his head. He looked up at her, noting the hurt look in her eyes and felt a surge of anger directed at himself for causing her to feel such pain. "Payson," he said gently, reaching for her hand and pulling it from under the blanket, "if I could be with you right now, I would in a heartbeat. You are honestly one of the most amazing people I have ever met."

Payson shook her head, tugging her hand from his and placing it out of his reach. "I'm not some little child with a crush, Sasha," she told him coolly. "You don't have to let me down easy."

"I'm not," he replied, a frustrated edge in his voice. "Payson, I . . ." he said, cutting his protests short as he realized there was only one thing that would convince her. He took her face roughly in her hands and pulled her lips to his in a searing kiss. She was tense at first, but eventually relaxed enough to kiss him back and lean further into his kiss. He loosened his hold on her, gently cupping her face with one hand, while the other slid down to the back of her neck and drew her closer to him.

He eventually pulled away, breathing hard to regain his breath and leaning his forehead against hers. "Do you honestly believe that I wouldn't want to be with you if I could?" he asked her sincerely, his fingers sliding against the soft skin of her cheek.

"Then what is it?" she asked quietly, biting her lip. "Don't tell me Marty and Austin have scared you off with their combined efforts," she muttered sarcastically.

"You know about that?" he asked in surprise.

She shrugged. "Austin has about as much subtlety as a flying monkey, and it doesn't take a genius to work out that Marty isn't exactly happy to have you here."

"It isn't that," he assured her quietly. "Do I really look like the kind of man that could be scared off by those two?" he asked with a smug grin.

"No," she answered, sweeping her hand through his sandy blonde hair. "So what is it?"

"It's me trying to be honourable," he answered her with a grim look. "You said it earlier, _dragă_. This is our last Olympic cycle and we can't let anything get in the way of that. You don't need any distractions right now, and that's what I'd be. I'm not good at relationships and I'm guaranteed to do something stupid. I don't want something I did to get in the way of your goal."

She smiled at him gently, seeming to understand exactly the point he was trying to get across. "You're a good man, Sasha Belov," she told him softly and pressed her lips lightly against his for just a moment.

"I'm not so sure," he answered. "And if you're going to keep kissing me like that, I might just have to change my mind." He smiled ruefully and pulled away, putting just enough space between them to quell the temptation to press her into the mattress and explore what little her leotard left to the imagination.

"So what does that make us?" she asked, feeling stupid and childish for having to define.

"Friends for now," he shrugged. "But I swear, Payson, as soon as the Olympics are over, you'll have to beat me off with a stick," he laughed awkwardly.

"Is that promise?" she teased with a sultry grin.

"Don't tempt me, _dragă_," he warned her. "I'm not sure I have enough will power left."

She smiled, taking her drink from the bedside table and quietly drinking it in a companionable silence. It was one of the many things she enjoyed about being with Sasha – he never felt the need to fill the silence, and he always had a way of making her comfortable with him no matter the situation.

"C'mon," he said, taking the empty mug from her hands, "I should get you back to gym."

"Can I have piggyback this time?" she asked sweetly, pulling his jacket on properly.

He paused to check whether she was being serious and laughingly agreed. "Your wish is my command, _dragă,_" he told her with a smile. He walked the short distance the door, holding it open for her as she met him at the threshold.

"_Rahat_," he muttered upon seeing the darkened gym. "Stay here," he commanded before running across the parking lot to check the doors.

"Like I have a choice," Payson muttered to herself with a pointed eye roll.

He pulled on the doors, muttering expletives in Romanian when it wouldn't budge. _"Ce pula mea,"_ he hissed between his teeth, resisting a very strong urge to try kicking in the door. He quashed his annoyance as best he could before returning to Payson.

"Right, so the doors are locked and all our stuff's inside," he said, summing up the situation as neutrally as possible.

"What about your keys? Mobile?" she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "They're in my gym bag, which is in The Rock."

"Crap," she hissed quietly.

"There's an extra bed in the airstream and you can borrow something to wear," he assured her, trying to make things as easy as he could. "I'm just worried about your parents. How likely are they to start freaking out when you don't come home?"

"I told them I'd probably be home pretty late, so it's not like they're waiting up. I'll just call them when I get my phone so Mom doesn't freak out when she finds my bed empty," she said with a grimace. She could foresee that explaining to her mother that she'd spent the night in Sasha's trailer was going to be a very trying conversation.

"So all we need to do is wake up early so we can sneak you back into the gym in the morning," he said. "Shouldn't be a problem." She nodded along as Sasha went to small dresser/closet and pulled out something for her to wear, carefully sniffing anything that he thought might do to see if it was fit for use. He eventually settled on a flannel pyjama set and a pair of boxer briefs. He handed her the small pile of clothes and directed her to the bathroom to change while he found himself something suitable to wear. He tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that she was wearing his underwear.

"How do I look?" she joked as she came out of the bathroom, his clothing hanging off of her tiny frame. She'd let her hair down from the tight bun, and it hung over one shoulder with a slight curl to the ends.

_"Frumos,_" he told her gently, closing the space between them in two long strides and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She flushed, flicking her eyes up to meet his and mirroring his expression of longing. "You take the bed, _dragă,_" he told her lowly. "I'll take the lounge seat."

"Sasha, I can't take your bed," she protested, forgetting her abashedness.

"Do you need an extra blanket?" he asked, ignoring her protests.

"Sasha, I mean it," she said adamantly as he quietly ushered her towards the queen-sized bed. "Will you even fit on the lounge?" she asked tersely.

"It's the same length as the bed," he said, finally acknowledging her argument. _"Vise plăcute, dragă mea,_" he told her quietly, kissing her quickly on the lips before heading to the opposite end of the trailer where he made himself comfortable on the lounge seat.

Payson smiled and settled herself into his bed.

"Sweet dreams, Sasha."

* * *

_North Greenwich Arena – London, 2012_

_The crowd was completely silent for a moment as she curled to the ground and returned to her starting position. Then suddenly there was a loud burst of applause and every member of the audience was on their feet cheering her performance._

_Payson stood gracefully – elegance in every movement – and saluted the judges, smiling as she raised her arms to her audience. Her performance had been perfect, more so than it had ever felt in her life, and there was only one person to thank for it. She ran from the floor to the sideline, embracing her coach in a hug as her teammates crowded around her._

_She heard Marty scoff above her and glanced up to see a frown edged on his features. "What is it?" she asked in concern, her own expression creasing in confusion._

_"You might want to look at the screen, Payson," Marty answered seriously._

_"But the scores won't be . . . oh," she gasped as she turned to face the large plasma screen, her hand rising automatically to her mouth and a smile pulling on her lips. She had expected to be greeted with a replay of one of her tumbling passes or of the _fouetté en tournant_ she performed in the middle of her routine. Instead what she got was the image of Sasha Belov – a man who was more or less the love of her life – holding up a hand-made sign with the words _**"Payson Keeler, will you please go out with me?"**_ in bold writing. Austin could be seen in the periphery nodding emphatically to indicate the correct response to Sasha's question._

_She took a step forward, instinctively wanting to run towards him, even though she wasn't entirely sure where he was. She had to laugh a little at his pleading expression, seeing straight away that he had probably been able to get away with murder as a child._

_"Payson, I thought you were smarter than that," Marty said shaking his head and feigning disappointment. "You can't be falling for that."_

_"Of course I'm not," Payson answered with a wave of her hand, not turning her gaze from the image of Sasha above her. "But he did say please," she argued, "and I suppose he does deserve some credit for that."_

_Marty shook his head, tsking disapprovingly. He laughed to himself and muttered something about how this was exactly the sort of thing he should have expected Sasha to do. He knew his former rival well enough to know that Sasha wouldn't give up when it came to Payson, and stupidly romantic, publicly humiliating, high risk – high reward gambles like this were right up Sasha's alley._

_Lauren, Kaylie, and Emily crowded around her, all of them eager to know her reaction to Sasha's public display of affection. Lauren was, unsurprisingly, the first to press for a response._

_"Oh my gosh, you have to say yes, Payson," the blonde insisted. "I mean, he's Sasha Belov and it's . . . he's _Sasha Belov_."_

_"Yes, Lauren, I am fully aware of who Sasha is," she said with a dry eye roll, but smiling irrepressibly. _

_"I don't know, Pay," Kaylie said less enthusiastically, slightly apprehensive even. "Is that what you want? You should only say yes if it's really what you want."_

_Emily just smiled her silent encouragement, eyes lit with excitement and approval._

_The four of them nearly jumped out of their skins as the crowd let out a collective groan, which was generally a bad sign for any gymnast. However, it was quickly apparent that the crowd's response was to the cut away from Sasha to a commercial for one of the sponsors. It was the sort of groan that came when the cliff-hanger of your favourite TV show is interrupted by an urgent news flash, the crowd having forgotten that they were watching a sports competition and not a romantic drama._

_At the end of the ad-spot the camera cut down to her on the arena floor, her three best friends on either side of her giving their unconditional support. The scores flashed one at a time, super-imposed over her image. Payson didn't dare look until the final score came, feeling her friends suddenly relax beside her and then hearing a loud cheer from the crowd. _

_And there it was – 16.75 and her name sliding up to the top of the leader table, pushing Genji Cho from the top spot and Kelly Parker into third place._

_"And the gold medal for Floor Exercise goes to Payson Keeler of the United States of America," the commentators announced, "with silver to Genji Cho, and bronze to Kelly Parker."_

_The four girls cheered amongst themselves, embracing each other in a warm hug and bouncing excitedly up and down on the spot._

_"You know they're all gonna want to know your answer," Emily reminded her as the excitement died down, directing her gaze to the waiting media._

_"They can wait," Payson answered shrewdly. "Sasha included."_

_"But, Payson, you can't –" Lauren began to protest, but Payson was quick to cut her off._

_"Men's rings finals is tomorrow night," she reminded them with a sly grin. _

_"Wanna help me make a sign?"_

~ to be continued ~

Okay, so maybe he did still push back, but only after giving the kiss some reasonable attention and very reluctantly. If he wasn't so darn honourable, I doubt he would have stopped at a kiss.

* * *

**Notes:**

The _italic_ bit is supposed to be a dream, but it's also how I pictured the ending when I first started this story - I always write endings and beginnings simultaneously like that. Now that I'm deeper into the story, I'm not picturing the ending in the same way, but it does serve as an ending of sorts. This is sort of the alternate ending of the story and if they really did leave well along for the next 8 months as they intended, then this is what would happen. Of course, everyone knows that 'wait until the Olympics' stuff never works.

The first arc finishes at chapter 17 and I will likely take a break after that so I can get through writing most of arc two before I start posting it. I guess this 'ending' becomes officially null and void once it picks up at chapter 18. This is my just-in-case ending for fear that I get some huge writers block and can't get through the rest of the story - at least this way you'll get some closure on things. I'm hoping it doesn't come to that because arc two is where all the drama happens. After all, Sasha hasn't even met Mark Keeler and I'm pretty sure he'd have some strong thoughts on his teenage daughter dating the twenty-six year old, bad boy of gymnastics. No father could stay silent on that.

* * *

**Translations:**

**_Rahat_**: Crap/shit. The slightly more polite form, at least relative to _Căcat_. Rather amusingly, it also means Turkish Delight. That made me giggle.  
**_Ce pula mea:_** What the fuck (_lit._ what my dick). Sasha, ever the gentleman, saves the real profanity for when Payson's not around even if it is in a foreign language.

**_Frumos_**: beautiful and it's infinite range of all encompassing meanings.  
**_Dragă_:** beloved, sweetheart, dear, darling.  
**_Vise plăcute, dragă mea_:** Pleasant dreams, my darling


	15. The Morning After

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Morning After

"Ok, here's the plan," Sasha intoned seriously, peaking through the small window of the airstream to watch Marty enter the gym at eight o'clock on the dot Saturday morning.

They found themselves incredibly grateful that Marty was not by any means a morning person and completely failed to attend to Payson's SUV parked exactly where she left it the night before. Marty was oblivious to anything just slightly out of the ordinary and incapable of anything but the most routine activities until he had consumed a very strong cup of coffee. As it wasn't particularly unusual for Payson to arrive at The Rock before him, he failed to notice that the car's owner was nowhere in sight, or the overnight snow lightly dusted over the vehicle.

Payson rolled her eyes, not allowing Sasha to have his Mission Impossible/Oceans 11 moment. "Sasha, I know the plan," she told him drolly. "I came up with the plan. I think we are both well enough versed in the plan that going over the plan right now is doing nothing but delaying the execution of the plan."

He gave her a sulky look and she relented to the pouting expression in his grey-blue eyes (a man his age should not have been capable of such petulance). "Oh fine," she sighed, "but you can't use the word 'plan'. It doesn't even sound like a real word anymore."

Sasha looked gleeful and Payson shook her head. "Ok, so the uh . . . scheme," he said, looking towards her for approval of his choice of descriptive noun. She nodded briefly and Sasha continued, "We'll head over to the gym. You'll hide in the lobby while I distract Marty, and once it's safe you can sneak into the locker room, change into your spare leo, and pretend like everything's hunky-dory. Then it's all over."

"Except for the part where I have to explain to my mom why I didn't come home last night," she added with a grimace. "She's never going to believe that nothing happened."

"She might," he offered encouragingly. She raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Alright she won't," he agreed reluctantly with a frown. "Not with my reputation. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she assured him, wiping the frown off his features with her fingertips. A small smile tugged on his lips in response, and he began to lean his head towards her automatically, without any conscious thought to why he was doing so. "Let's go," she said, stepping back before things went further. "You owe me a piggy back."

"Of course, _dragă_," he answered, shaking out of his trance. "Are you sure you'll be warm enough?" he asked in concern, his eyes raking over her figure. He couldn't help but admire the look of her – there was just something so sensual about seeing her in his clothing. For want of alternatives, she'd been forced to wear his stripped dress-shirt over last night's leotard with a paisley tie secured around her waist. Under that was a pair of basketball shorts – the only thing he'd had with cord, and even they were close to falling off her slim hips – and a pair of long soccer socks with Liverpool FC emblazoned on the shins.

"It's not like I have a better alternative," she shrugged easily. She snorted in frustration and slipped out of the basketball shorts, tossing them towards a small pile of clothing near the bathroom. "If I'm gonna have to make a run for it while you distract Marty, these things are only gonna slow me down," she explained to his confused and slightly heated expression. "They're barely staying on just standing here."

"Alright," he said turning his back on her and stooping low so she could wrap her arms around his neck and crawl onto his back. Her legs wrapped around his torso, locking at the ankles, and he could feel every curve of her body pressed into his back. He honestly wondered whether the forces of the universe were conspiring against him to make him go back on his words of the previous evening – he had never been so tempted before in his life and having Payson close certainly wasn't making it easy to stick to his resolve and keep his distance.

He moved as quickly as he could across the parking lot, practically racing despite the extra weight on his back.

"Good luck," they said in unison, laughing at the coincidence. He kissed her quickly on the lips, restraining himself from taking it further, and made his way into the gym where Marty was testing his weight on the high bar.

"Marty, can we talk?" he asked awkwardly, hands in his pockets as he stood before his former rival. He glanced around the gym, ostensibly to check they were alone, noting the location of the door to the locker room. He shifted himself closer to the wall so that he'd better position for directing Marty's attention away from where Payson would be.

Marty sighed tiredly. "I'm really not in the mood right now, Belov," the older man muttered tersely. "Summer's swapped my coffee for a 'fair trade' brand and it tastes like weak piss."

Sasha raised an eyebrow, surprised at Marty's reaction to the switch. "Lacks the full-bodied flavour of the suffering masses?" he asked in response.

Marty scoffed derisively, his lip curling in disdain as he replied, "She bought it from Starbucks." Sasha – thinking of Payson – wondered whether buying fair trade coffee from Starbucks was ironic (in the full sense of the word) or merely hypocritical.

Marty was clearly not in a good mood this morning, which made it all the more vital that he play interference while Payson snuck into the locker room. If she was caught, they'd both be sitting through disgruntled lecture about the implications of their actions and self-respect and various other topics that Payson didn't deserve to be lectured upon, and which his current gentlemanly behaviour should have excused him from.

"Marty, it's important," he insisted seriously, while desperately brainstorming for something at least as important as his tone suggested. Marty seemed to sense the urgency in his tone and left the bars, giving him his full attention and turning his back completely to the gyms entrance. He looked at Sasha coolly, arms crossed staunchly over his chest and expression inscrutable.

"I guess I just wanted to bury the hatchet," he said after a few moments, blurting the first serious thought that came to his head. "I know I said I was sorry at Worlds, but I didn't really mean it then," he admitted with a sheepish smile he hoped might endear him in some way to his former rival. "I was only saying it so you'd listen to me about Payson."

Marty shrugged indifferently. "I figured as much," he answered coolly. "For future reference, I listened to you because what you were saying had some actual merit, not because of your crappy apology."

"I thought I did a pretty go-" he began, cutting himself off as Marty sent him a glare that said otherwise. "Okay, so it was a bit of a half-arsed apology," he conceded. "Although I really was sorry about the things I said about your mother." Which was true – he'd always had a soft spot for Mama Walsh. "How is she, by the way?" he added in a bright tone. "Still a compulsive bingo cheat?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you suck at apologies, Belov?" Marty groaned, his expression a mixture of frustration and amusement.

"I don't get much practice," Sasha shrugged, unaccustomed as he was to apologizing for his actions. He'd probably apologized to Payson more in the last two weeks than he had to anyone in his life, which probably said more about Payson than it did about his propensity for apologies. "I'm working on it," he added with a half-smile.

He looked at Marty seriously, finally knowing what it was he need to apologize for after all these years. "I'm sorry for blaming you," he said genuinely. "My life was falling apart around me and instead of dealing with it, I just blamed it all on you and I'm sorry."

Marty nodded understandingly, uncrossing his arms and smiling weakly. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend," Marty returned in a low tone. "And I'm sorry I let MJ come between us."

"Me too," Sasha echoed gently. He was surprised at how much he meant his apology. He wasn't just saying it to get Payson safely into the gym, but he genuinely meant to put the past behind them and bury the grievances that he'd carried with him for years. He felt nearly ten years of animosity lift from his shoulders and a sense of catharsis that he'd been unwittingly seeking all this time.

"Do you think we can ever go back to how it used to be?" Marty asked seriously, a glimmer of hope present in his dark eyes.

Sasha shook his head. "There's too much water under the bridge for that," he answered regretfully. "I don't think we can ever go back.

"I'm sorry," he offered hopelessly as Marty's lips formed a tight line.

"No I'm sorry," Marty sighed. "You were my best friend, Sasha. You don't know how much I've missed you all these years."

Sasha's lips quirked in a small smile and he silently agreed. Marty had been like a wizened, older brother when they were competing rivals, and he missed that stable force in his life.

"Friends?" he asked offering his hand. It was the most he could offer, even though he knew it would never be the same bond they had before everything turned to hell and MJ dumped one for the other. It had all been building towards destruction before MJ even entered the picture, but she would always be the match that struck the fuse.

"Friends," Marty accepted with a small, sad smile and a shake of his former best friend's hand. "So rumour has it you're leaving tomorrow," he said conversationally, making small talk in order to bring the uncomfortable discussion to an end.

"Bet you'll be glad to see the back of me," Sasha suggested with a grin.

"I'll be glad to see the back of that eyesore," Marty almost growled.

"You mean the airstream?" Sasha asked innocently. "I can't possibly take her with me."

* * *

Payson watched from the door, desperately wishing she could know what they were talking about. They both looked so serious and Sasha's expression seemed to flick between sorrow and regret as they spoke. She wasn't self-centred enough to think that they were talking about her, and suspected it had something to do with Sasha and Marty's sordid past and the nasty love-triangle with her agent.

Whatever it was, Marty definitely wasn't looking in her direction and was thoroughly absorbed in the conversation. She scuttled along the far wall to the locker room, breathing a sigh of relief once she found herself safely inside. She changed into her spare leo, putting off the inevitable phone call for as long as she possibly could before facing her fate.

She didn't even bother checking the numerous messages she had probably been sent during the night or the missed calls. Her mother picked up immediately with a panicked, _"Payson, is that you? Where are you?"_

"I'm at the gym," she answered calmly.

_"At the gym?"_ Kim Keeler replied. _"Don't tell me you've been at the gym all this time."_

"Mom, don't freak out," Payson began tiredly, grimacing as she spoke, "Sasha and I got locked out of the gym and all our stuff was inside. I spent the night in the airstream," she said, hoping the lack of guilt in her voice would help her case. "Nothing happened. We slept at opposite ends of the trailer.

"And even if something did happen," she added, feeling a little enraged that she had to say so much, "we're both adults and it shouldn't matter to anyone but Sasha and I if it did.

"But it didn't," she reiterated, "and I just wanted to let you know."

Kim sighed loudly on the other end. "_Alright, Pay,_" she said gently, her scepticism obvious in the tone of her reply. _"Are you okay, sweetheart?"_ she pressed anxiously.

Payson almost groaned aloud, but settled with gnashing her teeth. She wasn't even sure she should validate her mother's question with a response. Even a belligerent "I'm fine mother" would be misconstrued as an admission of guilt when she had done nothing to feel guilty about. She had hoped that her mother of all people would know her well enough to know she wouldn't just hop into bed with the first man that took her fancy, even if he was a twenty-six-year-old, insanely attractive, British-Romanian gymnast. Years of self-control and restraint didn't suddenly melt away simply because the sound of his voice made her knees go weak and one look turned her insides to mush.

"We slept," she said tightly, "in separate beds.

"I didn't expect you to believe me," she muttered tiredly to herself.

_"Payson,"_ Kim protested, "_What am I supposed to think? You obviously like Sasha, and he obviously likes you enough to fly across the Atlantic Ocean just to see you. I do trust you, sweetheart, and I know it's none of my business,"_ she tried to console, _"but I worry about you._

_"And he's so . . . _experienced_,"_ she added vaguely. _"I don't want you getting into anything you're not ready for. Sometimes men like Sasha Belov have expectations an-"_

"Sasha's not like that," Payson said strongly, cutting her mother off. "He's a good guy," she insisted. "His reputation is not who he is."

_"Payson, you hardly know the man,"_ Kim argued.

She sighed loudly in frustration, shaking her head. "I can't do this right now," Payson said tersely. "I have to go practice. I'll talk to you later," she said before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. Her mother was going to give her hell for that later tonight, but for now she just couldn't have this conversation, especially not over the phone. She sighed tiredly as she slung her gym bag over her shoulder and walked back into the gym, forcing a smile as she waved good morning to her coach and her . . . well, Sasha.

Sasha followed her path towards the mats, sitting down opposite her as she stretched out her muscles. "Are you okay, _dragă_?" he whispered softly, noting the insincerity in her earlier expression.

She grimaced. "I just called my mom," she told him tiredly, "and as expected, she immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion."

He smiled sympathetically, taking her hand in his own. "She's only looking out for you," he said gently. "You can't blame her for worrying about you."

"I know," Payson sighed, "I just . . . she should know me well enough not to make those assumptions. She should give me more credit than that," she finished with a frustrated pout.

"I think the problem is she's giving me too much credit," Sasha replied with a half-smirk. His fingers stroked small circles into her wrist, easing some of her tension as he spoke. "She thinks any woman would be powerless against my powers of seduction."

Payson quirked an eyebrow at the statement, and Sasha was happy to see a small smile pulling at her lips. "Are these the same powers that bought me the wrong flowers after Worlds?" she asked him with a teasing smirk.

He smiled back. "I was thinking more along the lines of me wearing tights and enduring Vee's wrath just so you wouldn't be mad at me," he suggested with an endearing, playful look. His boyish charm wiped away the last trace of annoyance that was hanging over her, and she smiled a true smile, bright and beautiful as she shook her head at him.

"Oh, Sasha, how can I ever repay you?" she drolled sarcastically, rolling her eyes dramatically. He grinned in response, leaning his body forward as though he was about to impart a secret.

"I can think of a few ways," he replied lowly with a predatory smile. His gaze heatedly met hers as he slowly raised his hand to slide across her cheek.

"Belov!" Marty called loudly. The sharp noise caused Sasha to jump back suddenly, looking even more sheepish and boyish than before. "Don't think just because we're friends that this changes what I said in Tokyo," Marty intoned darkly, a grave look awash on his features.

Payson snickered at his frightened expression and Sasha couldn't help but think that this must be what it's like to be called into the Principal's office. "That must have been one hell of a conversation if you guys are friends now," she mused quietly.

"Just a long over due one," Sasha responded. "Anyway, I should go," he said, rising to his feet. "I promised Vee I'd come see her today.

"You have a good practice, _dragă_," he said as he stooped low to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you later." She nodded, jokingly blowing him a kiss and laughing loudly when he received a nasty glare from Marty in response to it.

_'Just 8 months,'_ he told himself encouragingly. _'Not long at all.'_

~ to be continued ~

I think this may be a little late or a little early, I'm not sure which anymore. I love the Marty/Sasha scene in this and the whole thing just hints at what happened between them while leaving you to fill in all the details for yourself.

* * *

**Notes:**

I decided to stick with JCI's conception of Sasha as a Liverpool FC supporter even though I was raised an Evertonian. Do you think if we agree to it amongst fanfic writers we can consider it canon? That seems to me a reasonable supposition.

* * *

**Translations:**

**_Dragă_:** beloved, sweetheart, dear, darling.  
**_  
_**


	16. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

_Keeler Residence – Boulder, Colorado_

Whenever possible, Sunday mornings were reserved for family time in the Keeler household. This was not always as easy a commitment as it sounded. Mark was often out playing golf on a Sunday, and Payson hardly deemed any day of the week a reason not to train from the crack of dawn unless The Rock itself was closed in order to prevent her from doing so.

Thanks to Summer's religious fervour, Marty had been convinced to make Sunday a half day at The Rock so long as there weren't any meets looming. With nothing scheduled until 2012, The Rock was closed until lunchtime and the golf courses were covered in nearly two inches of snow. Becca had no plans with friends and Kim herself wasn't swamped down with urgent paperwork that needed to be filed Monday morning. Everything seemed to be in order for some crucial 'Keeler family bonding' except for one thing.

"Mom, I have to go see Sasha before he leaves," protested the eldest daughter of the Keeler household, taking a determinative stance with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Kim grimaced in response, the affection clear in the way that her daughter said his name. They still hadn't talked about her spending the night in Sasha's trailer, and Kim couldn't bring herself to mention it. She was nearly scared to death of what Payson might reveal if pushed, and as much as she hated to have anything hanging between them like this, she just wasn't quite ready to think of her eldest daughter as an adult in an _adult relationship_. Especially not with a man she couldn't quite see as worthy of her daughter's affection.

"Payson, Sunday mornings are family time," she replied, her response just as adamant as her daughter's. She was tempted to bring up the agreement they'd formed about a year ago when Payson dropped her amateur status and took on MJ Martin as an agent. Along with her promise to set aside money for University and various other sensible purchases, Payson had expressly promised her mother that Sunday mornings, if The Rock was closed, would be spent at home with her family.

"And I promise to spend time with you guys after," Payson tried to concede, "but Sasha's plane leaves at twelve so I need to be at The Rock in the next half hour if I want to see him off."

"But we were going to go to the outdoor skating rink," Kim responded, trying to bribe her daughter with an old childhood passion. "Remember how much you used to love ice skating."

Payson sighed in aggravation and rolled her eyes. "I can meet you there after," she replied obviously in an annoyed tone.

"But it might be full by then," Kim argued.

"Then I'll just watch you guys. I don't mind," Payson shrugged. If she wasn't going to see Sasha for the next eight months, she felt they at least deserved to have a proper good bye before he left, and she wouldn't let her mother talk her out of seeing him off for anything.

Kim turned to her husband, giving him a desperate look. "Mark, back me up here," she said, bringing him in to break the deadlock. Mark glanced at them over his paper, his eyes flicking from his wife to his eldest daughter and then back again. They looked like bookends, both standing in the same uncompromising stance with the same determinative expression and a look in their eyes that said he'd be damned whichever side he took.

"So he's leaving?" he asked coolly instead, refusing to mention _that man_ by name. "For good?"

Payson huffed peevishly but refrained from rolling her eyes at her father's lack of subtlety. "Yes," she said tiredly, "which means you won't have to even think about Sasha Belov between now and the Olympics.

"Of course, if I don't say goodbye now I could always go see him in England . . ." she threatened vaguely, trailing off with a thoughtful expression. She had no need to consider how illogical the threat was, as her father was hardly thinking rationally himself when it came to keeping _that man_ away from his precious daughter. She could practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he weighed up how much the small concession now was worth in terms of the next eight months.

"And you'll meet us at the skating rink after?" he asked slowly.

"Of course, Daddy," she promised with a bright, childish smile that she knew her father couldn't say no to.

"Well, as long as you're not too long . . ."

"Mark," Kim cut in pointedly, appalled by how easily he had been manipulated by their eldest daughter.

"Well, he is leaving the country," Mark said in his defence. "We might as well let her see him off."

"Thank you, Daddy," Payson said with the same bright smile, sweeping her things together and pressing a quick kiss goodbye to each of her parents' cheeks. She was already making her way out the door at a fast pace before her mother had the chance to make him see the flaw in his own logic.

"Why do I feel like I've just been had?" Mark asked with a frown, looking to his wife for confirmation. He looked completely bewildered, and scratched his head thoughtfully as tried to piece together the events in his mind.

Kim had no sympathy for him. "Because your daughter just tricked you into letting her go see a man you didn't even want her talking to, period," she replied hotly, glaring at her husband.

"I didn't . . ." he began to protest, but he only needed to think of what happened for a moment to realize Kim was right. "Dammit. Since when was she able to trick me like that?"

"Since always," Kim replied more kindly.

"So are we really going to the skating rink or were you just saying that so that Payson wouldn't go see Sasha?" Becca asked, interrupting the conversation. "Cos if we're not really going ice skating, can I please go to Jamie's house? She's got the new DDR game and apparently Amanda's been saying she can totally beat my score, which she totally can't. And Kristie reckons that Amanda's just being like that 'cos she's mad 'cos . . ."

"Of course you can, Becca," Mark said, cutting in before he had to start worrying about where she was breathing amidst the vast screeds of information being pummelled at him.

"Thank you, Daddy," Becca answered, hopping from her seat and kissing her father's cheek. "I'll be ready in ten minutes so you can drive me there."

Kim just smiled gently as the same bewildered look began to crease her husband's face again. "Looks like you're two-for-two this morning," she mused aloud.

* * *

_The Rock Gymnasium – Boulder, Colorado_

Sasha loaded his bags into the back of his rented truck, bringing twice as much back as he had brought with him. He was almost tempted just to leave it all behind in the trailer, but supposed it would save him having to buy more clothing when it got colder in late December and January.

He smiled as he saw a familiar SUV pull into the near empty car park, calling out to her as she stepped onto the tarmac in brown, cowboy-style boots, thick stockings and a cute emerald sweater-dress. Her long, blonde hair had been swept in a loose bun and she wore a hand-made woollen cap with a pom-pom and matching scarf to keep her warm.

"I was afraid I might miss you," Payson admitted, a relieved smile on her lips.

"Like I could leave without seeing you, _dragă_," he replied smoothly, surprised that he'd managed such a suave response when she was looking so delectably adorable. Her soft smile told him she appreciated the sentiment and she gravitated towards him, pausing only an instant before wrapping her arms around his middle and burying herself in his side.

He lifted his arms over her and encircled her shoulders in his embrace, pulling her closer and resting his head atop hers. _"Cred că am e deja dor tine_," he murmured lowly to himself in Romanian as his fingers played with the lose tendrils of hair that had fallen free from her hairstyle.

"Hmmm?" she asked, lifting her head from his chest. Her clear blues eyes bored into his own with curiosity and he felt his heart stop for a moment as he took her in.

"Nothing," he replied, stroking her cheek reassuringly. "Just thinking aloud.

"I'm gonna miss you, Payson Keeler," he told her in a jocular tone, forcing a smile.

"That doesn't surprise me," she answered, putting on false airs. "People get so sentimental at your age."

He snorted, looking genuinely affronted. "Way to ruin the moment, _dragă," _he told her with a scowling pout. She just giggled lightly at his expression until her laughter forced him to mirror her smile.

"I have something for you," he said, releasing her a little so that he could search his pockets for the desired item. He pulled out a key ring sporting just one key and a chain of five penguins. Her expression was mixed – pleasure at the unexpected gift and the cute little aquatic birds hanging off the keychain, but confusion at what it was. "It's the key to the airstream," he replied to her confused expression.

"The airstream has a key?" she blurted, missing what he thought were the obvious implications of the gift. "Why are you giving it to me?" she asked next.

Sasha responded to the more pertinent question. "It's not like I can take her with me," he shrugged. "You're the only one I'd trust with her."

Payson gave him a dry look. "Sasha, 'she's'," she said, drawing her hands away from his torso to draw quotations marks in the air, "a trailer." She pursed her lips expectantly and continued, "What am I supposed to do with a trailer?"

"Road trip?" he suggested with a shrug. "Secret club house? Midday naps?

"And she's not a trailer," he reminded her. "She's a luxury recreational vehicle."

"Thanks," she offered weakly as he handed her the key. "I'll look after her for you," she promised him despite the odd request.

"I know you will," he answered and wrapped his arms around her once again.

"I will miss you, Alexandru Belov," she admitted quietly. His stomach did a small flip at the sound of his name – his full name – from her lips. "How on earth will I survive Mistress Viola without you there to distract her with your chicken arms?" she added jokingly, lightening the moment.

"I'm sure you'll be fine without me," he told her. "Who knows? You might even end up liking it."

"I doubt it will go that far, but thanks to you, I don't _hate _ballet," she told him gratefully. "You really are my knight in shining armour," she smiled. "You've done so much for me and I don't even know how to thank you for it."

"I'm sure I'll think of something," he told her warmly. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and gave her a slow smile filled with all kinds of regret. "I'll call you when I get home," he promised. "I'm sure one of us will have thought of something by then."

"Okay," she agreed, squeezing one last hug out of him before he left.

She stood frozen to her spot as he walked to the driver's side and hopped in the truck without looking back. He managed to drive a few meters along the tarmac before breaking suddenly. He jumped out of the car and ran back towards her, stopping right in front of her.

"Did you forget something?" she asked him curiously, head tilted sweetly to the side.

He nodded, taking a determined step towards her, his eyes dark with unreadable emotions. "Yeah," he said lowly, catching her chin in his hand and angling her face up towards him. "Just one thing."

He didn't give her the time to wonder what that thing might be, his actions answering the unspoken question as his lips descended upon hers, capturing them in one last kiss. Her eyes drifted closed and she responded to him immediately, pushing onto the balls of her feet so she could fall deeper into his kiss.

"Goodbye, Payson Keeler," he whispered breathlessly as he pulled away, a sad, but wistful smile lingering on his lips. _"La revedere."_

She reflected the smile, both hopeful and remorseful at the same time. "Goodbye, Sasha Belov."

~ to be continued ~

Obviously I'm on a _Romeo and Juliet_ kick for these last few chapters, but it's just so darn fitting I can't help myself. So there's just one chapter left of this arc and then I'm going to take a bit of a hiatus. I have a point that I want to get to in the story and once I write past that point I'll start positing arc two.

* * *

**Notes:**

Really a question rather than a note. An important element of this story is the media attention and no couple can survive the media without a celebrity couple name so I'm trying to decide which of the Payson/Sasha portmanteau options I hate the least. We've got SaPay, PaySa/Paysha, Keelov or anything else that you think might be appropriate. I'm going to set up a poll for this on the LJ version, but if you can't be bothered heading there just cast your vote via review and I will make sure all are accounted for.

* * *

**Translations:**

**_Cred că am e deja dor tine:_** I think I miss you already

_**La revedere**: _Goodbye (for now) – English just sounds so final.


	17. Misplaced Concern

**Just a Number**

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Misplaced Concern

_Tanner Residence _

"I can't believe he just _left,_" Lauren Tanner complained loudly, explaining the current developments regarding 'Rock-gossip' to her almost-but-not-quite-almost-step-mother. "And the worst part is, Payson didn't even try to stop him."

Summer Van Horne frowned at her almost-but-not-quite-almost-step-daughter – the daughter of the man she'd been in an incredibly unstable on-again-off-again relationship with for the last three and a half years. "Should she have?" she asked perplexedly, not quite understanding why Lauren was so interested in this person or why she was so insistent on what Payson's actions should have been.

The look that Lauren gave her was a mixture of horror and disgust, and her reply heavy with superior airs. "Well, duh," she replied haughtily. "He's Sasha Belov."

"Lauren, just because he's some kind of celebrity . . ." Summer tried to convey in a rational manner, offering a more reasonable perspective than Lauren's own.

"He's not a celebrity," Lauren insisted, cutting her off. "He's like the greatest gymnast of all time. Together they're like gymnastics royalty.

"She should have driven to Denver and chased him through the airport, declaring her love for him in front of thousands of strangers at the departure gate and insisting that he stay with her," she continued adamantly, sighing dreamily as she imagined the romantic scene playing out before her. "Payson could move into the airstream and they could have gorgeous uber talented children that will all be named Sasha Junior. Even the girls."

"That's not a good enough reason for two people to be together, Lauren," Summer replied in a semi-stern tone. "What about Payson's feelings in all this?"

"She's in love with him," Lauren shrugged easily, not really seeing the point of Summer's question.

Summer raised an eyebrow sceptically. "And she told you this?" she asked, some worry edging into her voice as she thought about some of the things she had seen in the time that Sasha Belov had been at The Rock.

Lauren gave her a condescending look, Summer's complete ignorance to how things worked and insistence on playing devil's advocate causing some degree of annoyance. "She's Payson. Of course she didn't," Lauren responded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She doesn't need to," she added haughtily. "Payson's like one of my best friends, we've known each other since we were eleven. It'd be obvious to anyone who knew her like that.

"I mean, you should have seen her totally freaking out about what to wear before the reception at Worlds and she was in _such_ a good mood the whole time that Sasha was here," Lauren explained, speaking quickly and excitedly about the 'proof' she'd assimilated of Payson's feelings. "It's just so obvious it's not funny."

Summer frowned as Lauren carried on, talking about some magazine article and how Kaylie had been completely fooled by it because she just wasn't as observant, and something about Payson telling her it was all a ruse. Summer wasn't really sure – she'd stopped listening as guilt gnawed away at her stomach. She was afraid she might have allowed something awful to happen at The Rock and she needed to talk to Payson about it immediately to check that no irreparable damage had been caused by her lapse in judgment.

But first she needed to talk to Kim.

* * *

_The Rock _

"Um . . . Kim? Can I talk to you about something?" Summer asked nervously, poking the top half of her body through the doorframe of the shared office. She glanced quickly down at the gymnastics floor, making sure that no one was looking their way or might inadvertently walk in on what would be an incredibly personal conversation.

"Of course, Summer," Kim replied warmly, adding, "You know you can tell me anything," when Summer still looked uncertain.

Summer nodded uncertainly, but shifted slowly in the room, sitting down primly on the couch in the corner. "It's just," Summer began reluctantly, "I'm not sure it's my place to tell.

"But you're my friend," she said more surely, voicing both sides of the internal debate aloud, "and I feel wrong keeping something this big from you. A lie by omission is as much a sin as a lie by commission," she stated firmly.

Kim grimaced a little a Summer's preaching despite genuine, motherly affection for her co-gym manager. She was a practicing Christian herself – Roman Catholic, which meant she probably wasn't what Summer would consider Christian – but even with some level of shared belief, she occasionally found Summer's black and white morals a little hard to swallow.

"Summer, what is this about?" she asked as Summer quietly debated the morality of lying. She quickly drew the young, blonde woman back to whatever tale she wanted to impart and away from the metaphorical, metaphysical battle she was having with her conscience.

"It's about Payson," Summer admitted hastily, the words pouring out of her now the seal was broken. "Marty asked me to stay late on Friday to watch over the gym while Payson worked on something. That English gymnast, Sasha Belov, he was here with her and I saw Payson kiss him."

"Uh . . . wow," Kim offered, not really sure how she should react to the information.

Obviously she was concerned, because Sasha Belov was nearly a decade older than her daughter and had a rather disconcerting reputation. He wasn't the kind of man she wanted her daughter getting involved, especially not at only eighteen years of age. The words that the papers used to describe him were troubling to say the least: a rebel, playboy, bad boy, megalomaniac, egotistical, ruthless, and heartless.

But there was also a very small part of her that wanted to take Payson to one side and have a very girly, very normal mother-daughter moment. This was her daughter's first kiss – her first real kiss with someone she really liked and not just some high school crush (minus the high school part). She was just the tiniest little bit thrilled for Payson, even if she would rather that Sasha Belov wasn't the object of her affection.

Summer stood from the couch and crossed the room, placing a hand sympathetically on Kim's shoulder. She took Kim's silence to mean the former rather than the latter – which it mostly was – and offered her sympathies. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you," she apologised.

"It's fine, Summer," Kim consoled. "It's what any friend would have done."

Summer nodded, her conscience resting slightly easier after Kim's assurance that she'd done the right thing. Now she only needed to speak to Payson.

* * *

Payson was surprised to find Summer Van Horne waiting by her car when she left the gym that evening. While Summer and her mother were obviously friends, Payson could hardly remember speaking more than ten words to Summer in all the time she'd been involved in the gym.

"You know, Mom's always really liked those crystal figurines from **Swarovski,**" she said before Summer could get a word in, hoping to get what would inevitably be an awkward conversation over and done with as soon as possible.

"What?" Summer replied perplexedly.

"Mom's Christmas present," Payson told her. "You should ask Becca," she added, forcing the responsibility onto her younger sister. "She'd know which one to get."

"Oh," Summer said, understanding flashing in her eyes. "Actually, Payson, that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What then?" Payson replied, searching her mind for anything that she and Summer could possibly have to discuss. "I already voted on the suggestions for the Christmas party."

"Payson, this is about Sasha Belov," Summer said quickly, grimacing a little as she said his name. Payson frowned and so Summer continued. "I saw you two in the gym on Friday," she explained.

Payson visibly cringed, wondering how the possibility hadn't come to her earlier. Of course Summer had seen her – somebody had to be there watching the gym while she practiced – and because Summer was Summer, her mother probably now knew that she had kissed Sasha that night. As though her mother needed more apparent proof that she was lying about not sleeping with Sasha.

"I also saw you Saturday," Summer continued, "wearing his shirt."

Payson groaned aloud, too tired of all of this to protest.

"Payson, I think you should be the one to tell your mother that you and Sasha . . . _spent the night together,"_ Summer suggested speaking euphemistically. "You have such a close bond, and it's so important that you – "

"She knows," Payson cut in, deciding to take Summer's words literally. Her expression was stony and she waited expectantly to see what Summer would say next.

"Oh," Summer replied, obviously disappointed. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that if you need anyone to talk to, I'm here for you, Payson," she continued empathetically. "I know there can be a lot of pressure on young girls to . . . to _provide,_" she said carefully, "when a guy is older and more experienced. I'm sure you're feeling a lot of different things, and it's all completely natural and you don't have to be ashamed – "

"Summer, as much as I appreciate you're kindness," Payson cut her off, every word dripping with caustic sarcasm, "You're the last person I'd want to talk about this even if I was _having sex with Sasha._

"And now thanks to you," she added even more bitingly, "I have to go home and convince my parents that I didn't sleep with Sasha despite the glaringly obvious evidence you presented of me kissing Sasha and him pushing me away.

"Or did you leave out that part?" she asked in a falsely bright tone and with wide-eyed look.

"Excuse me," she said before Summer could respond to the accusation, brushing past the older blonde and sitting herself in the car.

She phoned her mother as she drove out of the car park – hands free, of course – and asked her to meet some place where the two of them could talk without Becca and her father looming nearby waiting for answers. Her mother was quick to agree, knowing this talk was a few days overdue. They met in one of the coffee shops on the UC Boulder campus fifteen minutes later.

They ordered their drinks at the counter and sat across from one another at a small round table, waiting in silence until they arrived. Kim frowned, unsure of how to bring up the reason for their private interlude. She wasn't used to dealing with your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, teenage problems and wasn't sure of the correct protocol in getting these sorts of things started.

Payson threw her mother a bone. "Just say whatever it is you want to say," she sighed without glancing up from the hot chocolate that was placed on the table in front of her.

Kim nodded, more to herself than to Payson, and began. "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me things had _progressed_ with you and Sasha?" she groused, treading the ground lightly.

"Because it hadn't," Payson replied plainly, shaking her head. "At least not the way Summer thinks they had," she added bitingly.

"Mom, I know you think I slept with Sasha," she said seriously, finally looking up from her beverage, "but I swear we did nothing more than kiss."

Kim sighed loudly, wanting so badly to believe her daughter despite what she thought she knew. "Payson, I don't know, I-" she began unsurely, Payson cutting her off with another shake of her head.

"I did not have sex with Sasha," she reiterated, feeling more rational and less betrayed by her mother's assumptions than she had closer to the time. "And I know that most of the reasons why you think I did have a lot more to do with Sasha and his reputation than it does to do with me.

"He thinks you're giving him too much credit," she inserted with a small smile. "And I kind of have to agree. If you knew how much of a dork," she said with a paradoxical tone of affection, "he really is, the thought wouldn't even cross your mind."

"He seemed very charming in person," Kim argued sceptically, watching her daughter's changing expression with an uneasy feeling.

"He has his moments." Payson smiled gently to herself, her eyes distant and soft as she thought of the handsome, British gymnast.

"Payson, what happened?" Kim pressed, some desperation arising in her tone. The words came out louder than she intended, and several students studying nearby gave her disapproving looks.

"I just want to know what happened," she said in a lower tone, leaning across the table and taking Payson's hand in her own. "You looked so sad to see him go," she added, trying to explain herself as best she could. "I just want to make sure you weren't hurt in any way."

"I'm fine," Payson insisted, her tone not as harsh as it would have been days earlier. It was more tired than annoyed, but with a sense of understanding. She could see clearly how things might look to her mother, or to any other outsider, and would do her best to ease that worry, even if she still felt a little put out in doing so.

"We kissed," she began, adding, "and nothing else," in a slightly harder tone. "And we both agreed that now isn't the right time for us to start anything," she explained calmly. "The Olympic Games are only 8 months away, and this is the last chance either of us will have at an Olympic gold medal. We both need to be focused on our goals and we don't need to be distracted by a relationship when we're this close to getting there."

"That's very mature of you," Kim noted, slightly surprised by the response. "And you're okay with this, Pay?"

Payson shrugged lightly. "It's the right decision," she replied, "but I'm still gonna miss him. That's why I was sad to see him go," she said simply. "As hard as it is for everyone to believe, we are friends, and I'm not going to see him for more than half a year, and that sucks I guess, but it'll be worth it in the end."

They were silent for a few moments as Kim absorbed the words that Payson had spoken. She watched as her daughter nursed the chocolate drink, almost astounded by the maturity that Payson had shown in all of this. She shouldn't have been, though, because Payson had always been like that, and she should have known that Payson would never let her gymnastics be compromised.

"I'm sorry, Payson," Kim said quietly and gently squeezed her daughter's hand.

"I know," Payson nodded forgivingly. "Could you just . . . keep an open mind about Sasha? He's really not the person you think he is."

"I suppose he can't be, can he?" Kim replied with a weak smile. "You'd never let that sort of person in."

"Thank you," Payson answered, glad to see that her mother was slowly coming around to things.

"So I guess this gives me 8 months to get your father used to idea," Kim mused aloud. "It's not going to be easy. The last eighteen years have lulled him into a false sense of security."

"What are you going to tell Dad?" Payson asked, worry flashing through her eyes.

Kim sighed thoughtfully and shook her head. "I'll work that out later. Like I said," she assured her, "I've got 8 months to ease him into it."

~ End of Arc One ~

So there you go. That's the last of the loose ends tied up for arc one and this is where the story would end if Sasha and Payson could actually be trusted to keep to their word for the next eight months. Of course, that sort of thing never works.

Arc two will be up after a brief hiatus, although I'm not sure how long it will be. In the meantime, thanks to everyone whose read and reviewed and favourited and alerted this story so far and hopefully you'll keep reading when the story comes back after an indeterminate period of time.

* * *

**Notes: Teasers**

"Pay, I - I'm sorry, but I think it's the right thing to do. I think we should break up."

"Sasha Belov, if you don't get your whiny little Romanian ass on the next plane to Boulder I am going to hunt down every surviving member of your family and ensure that the Belov line ends with you, if you catch my drift."

"My dad doesn't own a gun, but he has a gun lisence and he knows how to use one."

"I can't believe that Payson 'no-sex-until-after-the-Olympics-and-maybe-not-even-then' Keeler got herself a boyfriend,"

"So he can't be that bad. Obviously some bad people like dogs and there are some that like aliens. But there aren't that many that like both."

"I hate to break it to you, Pay, but you're already in a relationship with Sasha, albeit a slightly unconventional one."

"I know your kind. She deserves better and ultimately, you're going to hurt her."

"I know I'm probably being incredibly naive, but I still don't understand why we have to do this shirtless."

"I don't see why you're making such a big deal about this. It's not like the rest of us don't have boyfriends who we hardly get to see. You're not that special."

"I had an idea, that maybe, if you're not doing anything after the Olympics, you might wanna . . ."

* * *

**Translations:**


	18. Half the World Away

**Just a Number  
(Arc 2)**

Disclaimer: I don't own **MIOBI**.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Half the World Away

_Sasha's Apartment – Canary Wharf, London  
12 January 2012_

"Sasha, are you alright?" Howard asked, glancing concernedly towards his best friend. "Sasha?" he asked again when no reply was forthcoming. "Sash?"

"Hmmm?" Sasha replied, finally looking up from whatever had drawn his attention. His expression was stony and his eyes tired. His mind was clearly elsewhere, and – as much as Howard wished for the alternative – this time it had nothing to do with a pint-sized gymnast.

"How are you doing, Sasha?" Howard asked again, his concern playing heavily in his voice.

Sasha sighed loudly and drew his fingers through his sandy hair. "I just . . . I don't know," he said slowly, struggling to put his own thoughts into words. "He . . .

"H-How long have you known, Howard?" he said finally, his voice low and his blue eyes dark with emotions.

Howard smiled sadly. "Awhile," he answered hesitantly. "Nikolai swore me to secrecy. He didn't want you losing your focus. Not when you're so close."

"So, that was the plan?" Sasha mused bitterly. "The two of you were just going to keep this from me until after the Olympics?"

"That was the plan," Howard reluctantly agreed.

"How long has he been sick?" Sasha demanded, his voice raw with emotion. He couldn't help but feel betrayed – the two most important people in his life had been keeping a secret from him for months now and it killed him to find out.

"About two years," Howard told him. "Maybe even before that."

"And how long has he got?" Sasha asked. Howard pursed his lips in silence, turning his eyes from Sasha's demanding gaze. "How long, Howard?" he asked again, his voice rising louder with each question.

"It's different from case to case," Howard replied vaguely, trying to dodge the question. "In some patients it progresses quickly, and in others more slowly." Sasha gave him a hard look and he sighed as he finally emitted a response, "About five years. He'll most likely be completely paralyzed within two."

The hard expression dropped off Sasha's face.

"I'm sorry, Sas-"

"It's fine," Sasha answered in a cool tone, turning his head and closing his self off. "You were only doing your job.

"I need to go train," he said emotionlessly, rising out of his seat.

"Sasha, you shouldn't be alone right now. If you jus-"

"I'll be back later," Sasha replied, stepping past before Howard could make further protests. He didn't even stop to grab his gym bag and the things he needed to take with him.

Howard sighed in frustration, left alone with his thoughts and no idea of how he was going to get Sasha through the British Gymnastics competition in a week and a half, let alone the next 6 months to the Olympics. Everything was falling apart and he was torn between wanting to be there for his best friend, and needing to get his client past this to focus on his goals.

"I never should have taken this job," he muttered to himself. It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement – Sasha needed a manager and agent post-MJ and Howard had sufficient knowledge of the law and gymnastics, and a few relevant connections to get him by while Sasha was between agents. That was six years ago, and he had never regretted the decision to step in for Sasha. Not until today.

A cell phone buzzed nearby, drawing him away from his morose thoughts. Sasha's Treo smartphone was sitting on a table beside him, flashing with notification of an incoming call. He shook his head, lifting the device from the table.

"Trust him to leave without . . ." he began, trialling off as his eyes landed on the image from the caller ID. And suddenly he knew exactly how to get Sasha through this.

* * *

_Parco Nazionale del Gran Paradiso – Valle d'Aosta, Italy  
17 January 2012_

"_Il frutto delle divinità - a partire da Monte Olimpo stessa. E 'quanto è vicino al cielo come noi possiamo avere,"_ Payson said, reading off a prompter in phonetic Italian. She took a delicate bite out of the chocolate treat in her hand, humming in enjoyment despite having repeated the action several times already_. "__Ferrero Rocher - un piccolo pezzo di cielo."_

"CUT!" the director called, finally allowing Payson to relax her face._"Bellissimo!" _he said excitedly. "Beautiful, Payson," he added in heavily accented English. She smiled tightly as he walked over to her and planted a kiss on each of her cheeks, echoing one last___"Bellissimo" _for good measure.

Her mother smiled as she approached. Kim was seated in a comfy chair as she happily sampled the free merchandise provided by enthusiastic company reps. "That was great, sweetheart," Kim praised. "It almost looked like you enjoyed it that time."

Payson glared at her mother who did not have decency to hide her amusement. "Where's MJ?" she asked, looking around for her agent who had kindly set up a commercial for a product she was hardly allowed eat and couldn't actually stand.

"She got phone call," Kim answered, unwrapping the gold foil. "She didn't look happy about it," she added with a wince and waved her hand in the direction that MJ had headed off in.

"She probably has some damage control to do," Payson suggested disinterestedly.

"So is that you done for the day?" Kim asked. "I thought we might go visit one of those old castles we saw on our way here."

"Sounds good," Payson nodded, looking forward to getting to see a bit more of Europe than simply whatever arena happened to be hosting the gymnastics competition. It was the reason she had agreed to doing an ad campaign for Ferrero Rocher even though she couldn't stand hazelnut chocolate.

"I'll go find MJ and see if I'm needed any longer," Payson suggested, pulling the fluffy cream cape of her costume closer around her shoulders as she left the relative warmth of the set, which was sheltered from the wind on three sides with the alpine ranges behind her as a backdrop. She followed MJ's footprints crisply cut out of the white snow. Her agent hadn't gone far from the set – just far enough to avoid having her conversation overheard.

"Am I supposed to care?" MJ asked sharply of the person on the other end of the phone. Her lips pursed as she listened, something almost like a smile appearing on her lips. "Are you really that desperate?" she asked sanctimoniously. "Fine then," she declared after another pause. "You owe me, Bryson. I just haven't figured out how," she warned before cutting off the call.

"Everything okay, MJ?" Payson asked, alerting MJ of her presence. Her agent turned around and shrugged indifferently.

"We have to tack a stop in London on the end of this," MJ announced, her lips twitching in disdain. "You have a meeting with French Connection. They're interested in using you for a summer fragrance campaign."

Payson frowned at her agent's reaction to the news. "That's a good thing, isn't it?" she asked cautiously. "I thought that was why we were here. To build up a presence in Europe."

"I suppose," MJ sighed. "I'm just not happy about how the opportunity came about. I suppose it should be good for giving you a less conservative image."

"How am I conservative?" Payson frowned thinking 'conservative' was probably one of the last words she would think to use to describe herself.

"I don't really know," MJ said and shook her head. "It's probably because you're from a red state," she suggested with a wave of her hand.

"Both Colorado and Minnesota are represented by Democrats," Payson reminded her.

"That doesn't stop you being a red state," MJ shrugged. "You're practically Utah. Europeans just assume that everyone from that part of America is conservative."

"Okay," Payson conceded rather than argue the point. "Anyway, the shoot just finished so Mom and I were going to visit some of the castles, unless I'm still needed around here?"

"You're all done today," MJ assured her. "Just don't stay out too late. You need to be up bright and early for your interview tomorrow morning, and I've added a small shoe company in for the afternoon."

"Anyone I might have heard of," Payson asked eagerly, her shoe fetish getting the better of her.

"Just some Italian designer," MJ answered vaguely. "I don't suppose you've heard of Sergio Rossi?"

* * *

_Black Cab – An hour and a half outside of London  
21 January 2012_

"Where exactly did MJ say we were meeting?" Payson asked, glancing up briefly from her Sergio Rossi booties – a gift from one of her latest sponsor – to look out the window at the passing English countryside.

"She didn't," Kim frowned in response. "This doesn't really make sense," she said. "Wouldn't a big company like French Connection have offices in London we could meet them at? We've been driving for hours now."

"It's only been an hour and a half," Payson corrected, glancing at her watch. "Maybe they wanted to meet somewhere more casual than an office. You know, keep it low key?"

"Could be," Kim shrugged not entirely convinced. "Did you tell Sasha you were going to be in England for a couple of days?" she asked with feigned nonchalance, aware that her daughter still kept in touch with the men's World champion and usually spoke to him over the phone about once a week. She supposed that Payson would be arranging some sort of reunion while they were in the same country, even if they had agreed not to see each other romantically until after the Olympics.

Payson shook her head, her expression clouding a little. "The national gymnastics competition is today and tomorrow," she shrugged, looking unconvincingly nonchalant about the whole thing. "I didn't see the point."

"I'm sure he'd want to see you, Pay, if he knew you were here," Kim offered sympathetically and gave her daughter a reassuring smile.

"I know," Payson replied unconcernedly, "which is why I didn't tell him. He's . . . he's got a lot going on right now. He doesn't need me adding to it," she said with a sad frown.

"Payson . . ." Kim tried to protest, but Payson had already turned away, distracting herself by flicking her feet back and forth and examining her shoes from every angle. It was a childish move, but she didn't feel like talking about Sasha right now and she knew her mother would only keep pushing.

If she had the chance, she'd call him before her meeting with French Connection, just to wish him luck for the competition. If she told him she was here, she knew she'd just be one more distraction for him, which was the last thing he needed with everything that was going on right now. He didn't need to be worrying about making time for her while he was competing and had so much more to worry about, even if it was just a national meet and his place on the team was more or less guaranteed. Distractions like that usually led to errors, and errors – even minor ones – could lead to career ending injuries just months out from the Olympics.

"Looks like we got 'ere jus' in time," their Cockney cab driver pronounced over an hour later as they pulled up to what was obviously the back entrance of a building. It had begun to snow and Payson wrapped a cream scarf several times around her neck as she stepped out of the car. Kim followed, adding similar layers to her current lot of winter clothing.

"Payson Keeler?" asked a man in rather official looking attire, meeting them halfway to the door. She nodded and the man gestured for her to follow, opening the door for them where a similarly attired man took over, leading them down a narrow hallway.

"Is MJ here already?" Payson asked cautiously, not appreciating the way that the fluorescent lights flickered around her like a bad horror film.

"Miss Martin asked us to inform you that she won't be joining you today," the man replied without looking back, opening a door for them and following them through to a small room. "Please wait here while I get Mister Bryson."

Payson looked bewilderedly at her mother, slightly relieved to see that she looked just as confused by what just happened. "You'd tell me if I was being punk'd, right?" she asked. Kim gave her a dry look and Payson bit out a nervous laugh.

"I feel like we're being taken in for questioning," Kim groused, wringing her hands nervously. "I knew I should have declared those chocolates at customs."

"Mom, the Customs Office are not going to drive us two and a half hours out of London just to interrogate us over Kinder Surprises," Payson argued reasonably, even as a small part of her wonder if maybe her mother was right.

A moment later the door opened with a resounding 'click' that made both Keeler women jump in surprise. A new figure entered, this one dressed in an expensive business suit and shiny black shoes. He had brown, floppy hair that reminded them both of a young Hugh Grant, and dark, nearly black eyes behind his wire framed glasses. He had a lean figure and stood only slightly taller than her mother. He held out a hand, giving the both of them a bright, friendly smile.

"Payson Keeler," he said as he shook her hand. "It's good to finally meet you."

"Uh . . . you too . . . um . . . Mister Bryson?" she answered awkwardly in reply.

He smiled back, eyes flashing knowingly. "Please, call me Howard," he answered. The name resonated with her for some reason, but she hardly had time to think of it as he turned to greet her mother in the same enthused manner. "You must be her mother Kimberly," he said, shaking her hand, "although if I didn't know any better I'd swear you were her sister."

"Kim," her mother corrected, laughing despite herself, "and I'm much too old to fall for that line."

"I did try," Howard sighed, smiling warmly. He ran a hand through his floppy hair, dishevelling it all the more. "In that case, I shan't take up any more of your time. He's right this way," he said as he opened the door for them.

"Who's right this way?" Payson asked, slightly peeved at the secrecy. Howard paused in his step.

"Margaret didn't tell you?" he asked, his eyes widening in surprise. "Well that makes things interesting."

It took her a moment to realize that by Margaret he meant MJ Martin, but that still didn't explain whom she was meeting or why nobody would tell her who 'he' was. Payson had no idea what was going on here, and MJ's absence certainly wasn't encouraging.

"Just follow me," Howard said reassuringly. "I can assure you that you will be pleasantly surprised."

Somewhat appeased, they both followed him down yet another long hallway and to what looked suspiciously like the door to a men's locker room. "Give me a moment," Howard instructed, slipping into the room. They could hear voices conversing inside and then suddenly the door was pulled open.

"Howard, I – " Sasha began to complain until his eyes fell on the figure waiting outside the locker room. "Payson?" he questioned, not quite believing it was true until she cautiously raised her hand in salutation. He scooped her up in a hug, swinging her around once before placing her firmly on the ground. "What are you doing here?"

"I honestly don't know," she laughingly replied and ran her fingers down his smooth cheek just to test that he was real. "MJ told me I was meeting some sponsors and then I end up here. It's so good to see you," she told him warmly.

"You too,_ dragă," h_e replied and smiled. He raised his hand to her face, mimicking her gesture as he caressed her cheek and gently titled her face up towards his own. He descended his lips upon hers and pressed them together in an all-consuming kiss, completely oblivious to their audience until Kim Keeler let out a pointed cough to inform them of her presence.

He turned in the direction of the noise, releasing Payson form his embrace and flushing the instant he recognized Payson's mother standing the hallway with them. "It's nice to meet you again, Mrs Keeler," he offered awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head. He glanced desperately at Payson, who was too caught up in her own embarrassment to laugh at his or attempt conversation with her mother.

"Right-o," Howard charitably interrupted. "Sasha here needs to get himself ready for the competition, so I suppose it is upon me to escort you ladies up to the stands."

"Good luck," Payson told Sasha softly. "Not that you'll need it." She stood up on the balls of her feet and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll be rooting for you."

"Then how could I lose?" he replied easily, letting her go with one last longing look. He smiled faintly, all the other drama piling up around him momentarily forgotten upon seeing her smile.

It was exactly what he needed to get him through the day.

~ to be continued ~

And we're back! Just finished the chapter I wanted to finish, although I might pace myself a little with updates as the chapter that follows it is not going to be easy to write (and I can say that without giving anything away at all). So we've picked up in January after a month and a half of abiding by their 'not until after the Olympics' rule. And if you're surprised they lasted this long, I can assure you they're not going to last much longer :).

* * *

**Notes:**

_**Nikolai:**_ I got stuck in my head somehow that there was a connection between Sasha's coach Nikolai and gymnast, Nikolai Andrianov, and so Andrianov's illness/death sort of inspired this plotline. The disease is Multiple Systems Atrophy and causes paralyzation in it's later stages.

_**Howard Bryson:**_ I know it's an unconventional choice, but I decided to go with Ryan Kwanten for Howard. Unconventional, of course, because Howard has a Law degree from Oxford and **Ryan Kwanten** (_Home and Away, True Blood_) has a tendency to play himbos. But I decided that Howard was Australian (although from Melbourne rather than Sydney so his accent is more like Jesse Spencer's high Australian than Ryan's middle Australian, except that he's been living in London most of his life and trained himself to talk with a posh tone) and wanted an Australian actor with floppy hair.

There are pictures of Ryan Kwanten for those of you who don't know who he is (or really just fancy him) on the LJ version, along with pictures of and links to the apartment I choose for Sasha in London.

* * *

**Translations:**  
_  
__dragă_ : darling, dear (Romanian)

_Il frutto delle divinità - a partire da Monte Olimpo stessa. E 'quanto è vicino al cielo come noi possiamo avere. Ferrero Rocher - un piccolo pezzo di cielo_: The fruit of the gods – from Mount Olympus itself. It is as close to heaven as we may get. Forrero rocher – a little piece of heaven. (Italian)


	19. Back on Top

**Just a Number  
**

Disclaimer: I don't own **MIOBI**.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Back on Top

_Fenton Manor Sports Complex – Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, England_

Sasha was always struck by just how little attention was paid to gymnastics on his home ground. His early gymnastics career had begun in Romania and every competition had been surrounded by fan frenzy. In England, the national competition was tucked into a small sports complex outside of all the main cities. No more than two media outlets would attend and they did so largely because January and February were a touch on the sparse side when it came to the more mainstream sports. Even the fact that he was competing didn't garner more than two extra cameras.

He imagined it was quite different to how things were done in America. There was no team competition, despite the conviction that gymnastics was a team sport. There were only about thirty competitors max – at least at his level. And the margin between competitors was rarely fractional. He had about five years on his two closest rivals – Daniel Purvis and Sam Hunter, who had been switching between one and two during his brief absence – and about the same lead in points over their All-Around scores. He had no doubts as to how today would end – he was guaranteed to win all seven events. The question was, by how much?

He had petitioned onto the national team for Worlds – largely by threatening defection to Romania – knocking some young, up and coming gymnast out of his spot and relegating the rest of the team to second fiddle. He had proven himself at Worlds, but he knew there were still those that doubted the legitimacy of his placement on the team, and so he needed to do just as well in this event and treat it as something bigger than it was. He couldn't allow a single error and he couldn't allow anything to shift his focus.

"Thanks," he murmured lowly as he adjusted his grips, glancing briefly up in the direction of his best friend.

Howard shook his head. "I didn't do anything," he replied and allowed a small smile to appear on his lips.

"You're a terrible liar, Howard," Sasha scoffed. "You always have been.

"And even if you weren't," he added, an amused smirk on his lips, "no one else would have brought her here. So thanks, Howard," he reiterated. "I really needed that."

"What are best friends-cum-sports representation for?" Howard asked with an easy smile. His expression turned morose as he laid a sympathetic hand on Sasha's shoulder. "You needed something to get your mind off Nikolai, and that was the only thing I knew capable of making you smile no matter what else was going on in the world around you.

"I'm just glad it actually worked," he added in a more jocular tone. "I would hate to owe MJ Martin a favour like this and it all be for nothing."

Sasha grimaced at the thought. "I'm surprised she was so accommodating," he mused aloud. "So, what exactly is MJ getting out of this visit?"

"A foot in the door with fc:uk," Howard answered drolly, listing the items on his fingers, "you step out of the running for the Oakley campaign, a puff piece article with you and Austin for Vanity Fair, and she gets 20% of my commission on anything you do with Payson.

"Plus one unqualified favour," he finished tiredly.

"All that and you still owe her," Sasha said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That woman drives a hard bargain," Howard muttered disdainfully. "But so long as your happy, Sasha . . ." he said, trailing off vaguely.

Sasha smiled faintly and nodded.

"Well, then, are you ready to kick some Scouser butt?" Howard asked poshly, his voice bright with sarcastic enthusiasm.

Sasha gave him a dry look. "I'm not making a Beatles pun," he said seriously.

"Not even a little one," Howard wheedled. "The media love that sort of thing. Just tell them you'll be giving Purvis a _Ticket to Ride._ Actually, this one's even better," he continued excitedly, "you can tell Hunter the Sheriff's back in town. Because he's from Nottingham, you gettit?"

Sasha shook his head.

"C'mon, Sash," Howard called after him as walked away. "_We Can Work It Out."_

* * *

"This is kind of weird," Payson murmured lowly as she and her mother sat in the stands waiting for the competition to begin.

"What?" her mother replied, "Being a spectator?"

"That too," Payson shrugged, "but I meant the crowd. It's so small. I think Sasha might be a bigger deal in America than he is in his own country."

"I wouldn't say that," Kim said, pointing towards a small crowd of obvious Sasha Belov Supporters. They looked to be in their Sunday best and had several signs declaring their love for the World Champion and asking for his hand in marriage. Kim noticed a twinge of jealousy in her daughter's tight smile.

"You know, you wouldn't have to put up with that sort of thing if you made it official," Kim noted. She trying her best to be supportive despite continuing reservations about Sasha Belov and what he could do to her daughter. She held back a snort of amusement as one of the young girls removed her jacket to reveal a shirt with Sasha's image plastered on the front and back.

"There isn't anything to 'make official'," Payson groused in reply. "We agreed that nothing is going to happen until after the Olympics."

Kim rolled her eyes, having heard the same line several times over the last two months. To which she often replied that their nothing looked a helluva lot like something. She knew that Payson didn't have much experience when it came to relationships and the like, but even she had to have noticed that they were behaving just like any other couple in a romantic relationship, albeit a long-distance one.

"Well I'd hate to see how you greeted someone you _were_ in a relationship with," Kim half-snorted. She smirked as a rosy flush warmed her daughter's cheeks, biting back a laugh.

"Mom," Payson protested in an affronted manner.

"I'm just making an observation, sweetheart," Kim shrugged. "I just don't see the point of you two denying that you're in a relationship when it's clearly what you both want."

"It's complicated," Payson argued vaguely, brushing the suggestion away with a sulky wave of her arm.

"Why?" Kim pressed, taking this opportunity to really talk to Payson about her not-a-relationship with Sasha. It was clear that Payson wanted to be more than _just friends_, and timing didn't seem a good enough reason for denying that. Kim couldn't for the life of her see what was stopping them from simply naming the game and being done with it.

Despite her concerns over Sasha, she did want Payson to be happy and while the current state of affairs wasn't making her unhappy, she could certainly be happier under the right circumstances.

"Is it the distance?" she continued in a motherly manner. "Because I don't see how that makes it any different from Emily and Damon. Distance is distance whether it's 300 miles or 3000."

"It's not the distance," Payson sighed, slumping forward in her seat. "That's only a small part of it.

"I already told you, Mom," she said exasperatedly. "We need to be focused on reaching our goals right now, not on a relationship."

"Yes, but that doesn't really explain things, Pay," Kim argued. "How is what you're doing now any different from an actual relationship? You talk to him nearly every day, even if it's just a text or two. You send each other cute little good night messages even though you're in two different time zones – which I only saw by accident," she added quickly in defence as Payson sent her a horrified look over the invasion of privacy. "You kiss _like that _after a long separation.

"So, where's the difference, Pay?" she asked again. "From where I'm sitting, you two have been in a relationship for the last two months and you're as focused as ever. What difference will finally admitting that make?"

"Because if we really got into a relationship there'd be obligations," Payson answered her moodily, clearly wanting no part in the conversation.

"Like what?" Kim retorted with an easy smile. "Like secretly stressing over what to get him for Christmas? Or showing up at a competition to support him? Or worrying about him non-stop for the last few weeks?

"How is 'calling a spade, a spade' going to change that?" she finished pointedly.

"Mom, you don't understand," Payson urged in frustration. "It's – "

"It's complicated?" Kim finished for her with an un-amused smirk. "It isn't as complicated as you think, sweetheart.

"I hate to break it to you, Pay," she continued sympathetically, "but you're already in a relationship with Sasha, albeit a slightly unconventional one."

"I thought you didn't like Sasha," Payson muttered, thoroughly annoyed that her mother chose _now_ to change teams and start offering her romantic advice that she neither wanted nor needed.

"You asked me to keep an open mind," her mother shrugged.

Payson had no idea how to respond to that, and she was thankfully saved from doing so by an announcement over the loud speaker letting them know that the competition was about to begin. She smiled as she spotted Sasha amongst the small crowd of gymnasts marching onto the floor, lacking some of the pageantry of the American competition. The venue was small enough that he could pick her out of the crowd and send her a small smile, although the group of 'Belov Be-Lovers' (and yes, they did call themselves that) assumed that affectionate smile had been meant for them.

She smiled back, hoping that the mere movement of 12 muscles would convey what she would have said in words: _I believe in you._

* * *

_Sasha Belov . co . uk  
Post – 21 January 2012_

_Another clean sweep for Sasha at the British National Artistic Gymnastics Competition in Staffordshire. Sasha placed first in all seven events: All-Around, Floor, Pommel Horse, Still Rings, Vault, Parallel Bars, and High Bar. Scores as follows:_

_All-Around: 93.130  
Floor: 15.325  
Pommel Horse: 15.710  
Still Rings: 15.010  
Vault: 15.995  
Parallel Bars: 15.775  
High Bar: 15.315_

* * *

_Sasha's Apartment – Canary Wharf, London_

As disappointed as Kim knew her husband would be with her for switching teams (as Becca referred to it), Kim found it quite difficult to dislike Sasha Belov in person. It was so easy to despise _the idea_ of Sasha while he was thousands of miles away or privately seducing their daughter with some sort of innate charm. It was much harder to do so when he was sitting across from you offering seconds of a delicious meal that he had prepared himself in a gorgeous duplex apartment overlooking the Thames.

She politely declined the offer, watching as he began to collect the plates from around the table. Payson immediately stood up to help, following behind him to the stylishly decorated kitchen further into the apartment. Kim tried to remember the last time her daughter had willingly offered to help with the dishes and doubted it had happened this century, if at all.

Kim frowned to herself, making careful observations throughout the casual dinner. Sasha had been nothing but polite and charming, and had gone to extremes to make sure she was happy and comfortable. He was obviously on his best behaviour, which made it difficult for her to properly assess his character, but that in its self spoke volumes against the person she thought he was. She was finding it increasingly difficult to find consonance between the Sasha Belov she read about in magazines, and the man she saw now standing beside her daughter at the sink, the two of them making a striking picture of domesticity.

"How about we leave the young people to clean up and I can give you the customary tour?" Howard suggested with a knowing smile. His eyes flicked towards the kitchen, and she immediately understood that he wanted her to come with him so they could leave Sasha and Payson alone to talk.

She heard Sasha scoff behind her as he came back to collect the dirty glasses from the table. She wasn't entirely sure as to whether the scoff was aimed at Howard's lack of finesses or at the 'young people' comment – Howard only looked about three years older than Sasha, and while she wasn't quite old enough to viably be his mother, there was still something of a generation gap between them.

Despite the voice in her head – that sounded a lot like her husband – telling her not to leave Payson in a room alone with _that man_, she stepped out of her chair and followed Howard out to the terrace, where they had a picturesque view of the London skyline.

"You know he's really not as bad as you think," Howard said as he walked down the length of the terrace, opening a sliding door further down.

"I'd say you're biased," Kim replied, watching as he crouched before the now open door and called out to someone in side.

There was a small tussle sounding from within, and then a thud as four paws hit the floor and a medium-sized, tri-coloured, long-haired dog stepped out into the terrace. "Come here, Rassie," Howard tutted for her to come to him, but she ignored him as her attention was captured by the novelty of Kim.

Kim cooed as she stroked her fingers through Rassilons dark fur. "Aren't you a beautiful doggie," she said gently, scratching behind pointed ears. "You didn't have to shut her away," she said, glancing up at Howard. "Payson loves dogs. We used to have a collie like this back in Minnesota."

"Sash' wasn't sure how you were with dogs so he thought it best to keep Rassilon out of the way," Howard explained as he continued to try and coax the border collie/English setter cross towards him. "He wanted to make a good impression."

Kim emitted a small 'hmm' of amusement. "I must admit there's something almost endearing in that," she said quietly. "Is 'Rassilon' a Romanian name?" she guessed, shifting the subject of conversation.

"Actually it's Gallifreyan," Howard answered laughing at the inside joke. "It's something Sasha's done since he was a boy – he names his pets after Time Lords. Be glad you weren't around for _Romanadvoratrelundar _– that was a mouthful.

"You probably don't get **Doctor Who** in America, do you?" he realized when she looked confused. "Sash' is a bit of a sci-fi geek.

"So he can't be all that bad, can he?" he said, drawing the conversation back to where he began. "You see, he likes dogs and aliens. Obviously there are some bad people that like aliens and some bad people that like dogs, but I quite doubt there are many that like both."

"I never would have guessed that about him," she admitted, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. The idea of Sasha as a 'sci-fi geek' didn't seem to fit with either impression she had of Sasha so far. The only thing it did seem to fit with was Payson's affectionate declaration that Sasha was more dorky than suave.

"There's probably a lot you wouldn't guess about him," Howard agreed. "He really isn't the person the media make him out to be."

"Payson said as much," Kim sighed, frowning as she gave voice to her concerns, "but I can't help but think it has to come from somewhere."

"It's just an image," Howard shrugged, rather than explaining the source of Sasha's 'media persona'. "It might have been true at a time – who really knows with that sort of thing. All I know is that people change and images don't. People stick with what sells."

"I just . . . I really am trying to ignore it," she said, referring to Sasha's image, "for Payson's sake. If she likes him as much as I think she does, then they should just be together and be done with it," she said in a determinative, no nonsense sort of manner.

"But I can't help but worry about her," she said more seriously. "He's so much older than her and clearly more experienced, and Payson is . . . _committed to her gymnastics_," she explained in the vaguest possible way.

"Ah," Howard said, seeming to understand what she was trying to say without saying it out right. "She's never had a boyfriend and you're freaking out because the one she might have has a few rough edges. It's not that you dislike Sasha personally, but what he represents."

"No," Kim disagreed, standing up as Rassilons finally responded to Howards herding, "I'm not one of those mothers. I've always allowed Payson to make decisions for herself and respected those decisions. And if Sasha is what she's decided, then I can respect that too."

She tried not to grimace at her own words, realizing that they sounded a little too rehearsed and insincere. She meant them for the most part, but that still didn't quell many of the reservations she still had about Sasha and what he represented.

"But that doesn't stop you disliking him, just a little," Howard wheedled, smiling knowingly.

"Just a little," she agreed reluctantly. "This is my little girl we're talking about. You'll understand when you have children of your own – it's not easy seeing them growing up and you can't help but hate anything that makes you realize that she's not your baby anymore."

Howard nodded, a small laugh escaping his lips. "You know, I think you'd probably quite like him if he wasn't imposing himself upon your teenage daughter," Howard mused aloud.

Kim smiled in agreement. "I think I probably would."

~ to be continued ~

I hope the Kim stuff came off right. It was hard to get the balance between support and concern right.

* * *

**Notes:**

_**Rassilon**: _Sasha seems like a dog person to me (although that's probably just me being biased).

* * *

**Translations:**  
_  
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	20. New Beginnings

**Just a Number  
**

Disclaimer: I don't own **MIOBI**.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – New Beginnings

"Don't even think about it," Payson said calmly, sensing more than seeing Sasha's movement towards the retractable kitchen hose. Despite his attempts to look innocent, she knew better than to be fooled by the heart-breaking expression in his grey-blue eyes. She had quickly realized that the most dangerous thing about Sasha Belov wasn't his charm or good looks, or even the accent – it was his ability to widen his eyes in such a way as to make him look pityingly innocent at will.

"How long are you staying for?" Sasha asked as he put away the last dish and Payson emptied the sink, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

"Just tomorrow," she frowned, clearly wishing they could have more time together before she left. "I have a photo shoot in Boulder Monday evening."

"Christ you're busy," he murmured, leaning back against the counter and glad that it wasn't him. "I'd forgotten how much of a slave driver MJ could be."

Payson grimaced a little at the mention of her agent, unable to silence the little voice inside of her that liked to highlight the fact MJ was his ex-girlfriend. She changed the subject rather than dwell upon it, giving Sasha a sympathetic look. "How have you been?" she asked him gently, reaching for his hand. "Are you – "

"I'm fine," he answered mirthlessly, cutting her off. "Nikolai's the one who's dying."

She shook her head, stepping closer to him and laying her free hand upon his chest. "You're not," she told him quietly, "and that's okay, Sasha. You don't have to pretend to be strong about it."

He blinked slowly, seeming to pause to process her words. For a moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the barrier that had been keeping his emotions at bay slipping away as he opened them again. His body sagged into hers and he wrapped his arms around her, taking comfort in her warm presence.

"Oh, Sasha," Payson said softly, unable to offer anything more than that. She wished desperately that there were something she could say to comfort him – to give him hope – but anything that came to mind seemed so superficial and trite. Instead she offered wordless comfort, cradling his head gently against her shoulder and stroking her fingers through his short, sandy hair.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted sadly after several moments of silence, his words muffled against her hair. "I just . . ."

"It's okay," she hushed softly. "I know," she assured him gently. She understood what he was trying to say, even if she could only empathize at a superficial level. A coach was the most important person in an athletes life, and she couldn't even imagine what she would do if her own coach left her for any reason.

"How's Nikolai?" she asked him, keeping her tone gentle and unassuming. She felt him stiffen a little in her embrace and knew it wasn't good. The first thing she had done when Sasha told her about Nikolai's condition was find out everything she could about multiple system atrophy, and the prognosis wasn't good, even if Nikolai was only early days.

"He's better," Sasha said finally, his tone suggesting this wasn't entirely good news. "He just . . . stopped breathing – that's why he collapsed – and the doctor said that was _normal_."

He pulled back slightly and she could see the incredulity in his gaze. It was hard to stomach someone being so casual about these things – even if breathing difficulties were technically normal in terms of the progression of the disease. That in its self revealed just how serious things were.

"He's pretty far along, isn't he?" she guessed sadly. His watery gaze confirmed it along with a stoic nod. "C-can they do anything?" she asked, hoping there was something that she'd missed in her own research.

"All they can do is manage the symptoms," he replied hopelessly. "They've put him on some new drugs, which are supposed to do a better job than the last ones."

He paused and she gently urged him to continue by rubbing her hand into his shoulder. "Sergei and Fyodor want to get him in a clinical trial," he said almost reluctantly, a chill in his voice as he named Nikolai's two adult sons. "They're trying to convince Nikolai to agree to it, and they won't even consider the consequences. He could die from the treatment and it's like they can't even see the risk."

Payson gasped aloud, tightening her embrace. "Did you try to tell them that? What did they say?" she pressed anxiously.

"_Semʹya znaet luchshe_," he said in Russian, repeating Fyodor's words. "Family knows best," he explained with a pained look.

She almost cried for him as those three words left his mouth, their meaning as clear as the hurt rife on his features. Nikolai's sons had pushed him aside and Sasha could say nothing to argue with them. Who cared that he was the one who had been with Nikolai every day for the last decade while they lived their lives in Russia, occasionally visiting their father in London. Who cared that Sasha was as much a son to Nikolai as they were and that Nikolai had been like a father to Sasha most of his life. Sasha wasn't blood and so he had no say in what would happen to the man who had made him who he was.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, pulling him close. It was the only thing she could think of to say, even if the words were meaningless coming from her.

He smiled sadly, pressing his hand to her cheek and wiping the tips of his fingers against the corner of her eye. The tears gathered there revealed how beautiful she truly was – both inside and out – and he felt supremely fortunate to have her here with him. _"Mulţumesc, dragă,"_ he murmured meaningfully.

Her eyes closed in response to his touch, and she smiled as best she could through her worry and concern. His response was instinctive – leaning his body forward and dipping his head to meet those sweet, upturned lips with his own. He kissed her chastely, only pressing his lips to hers with the lightest touch, which she returned without deepening the kiss until outside forces intervened.

"Ah ha," Howard announced loudly, happening upon them in the kitchen. "Progress already."

They both jumped back from the embrace, just as they had earlier that day, and turned guiltily to face Kim Keeler watching them both with an amused smile and an ironically raised eyebrow. She shook her head and indicated for Howard to show her the rest of the apartment, leaving them alone with Rassilon as Howard led Kim upstairs to the remaining two bedrooms and balcony garden.

Payson crouched down to stroke Sasha's beautiful collie mongrel, unwilling to be the first to break the awkward silence that suddenly reigned between them. She silently cursed her mother's bad timing, watching as Sasha drew a hand tensely through his short blonde hair.

He sighed loudly before finally breaking the silence. "This isn't working for me," he told her straightforwardly with a smile that she probably would have described as charming if the five words he had spoken hadn't just broken her heart.

"Oh," she said, her lips forming the only things she could say in response as she rose slowly to her feet. She hadn't been expecting those words from him – they hadn't even occurred to her in the grand set of possibilities of what he might say to break the silence. In fact, the only thing she would have thought less probable would be a sudden marriage proposal and that would not have been entirely unappreciated.

Sasha cringed as he repeated the words back to himself, realizing that it sounded an awful lot like something he might have said to break up with some former lover in his past life. He wondered what exactly it was about Payson Keeler that turned him from a smooth and articulate twenty-six-year-old to a blathering and usually unintelligible teenage boy. In the few seconds just before the words left his mouth, they sounded like a very charming and romantic way of getting his thoughts across. Now he sounded like a cad.

He began again, trying for clarity this time rather than romantic artistry. "I know the whole 'not-dating' thing was my idea, but I really don't think it's working," he explained. "Because we are, aren't we?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't the only one who saw things that way. He'd found himself thinking several times over the past two months that he might as well just be dating Payson for all the time he spent talking to her or simply thinking about her, and was only mildly surprised to find that the prospect didn't make him want to run a mile.

"Only we're not," he added when Payson gave a small, timid nod, "and because of that I feel like I'm taking advantage of you or stringing you along every time I kiss you.

"You're not the kind of girl a guy can just kiss and expect it not to go anywhere," he finished with a bit more charm and finesse, finding his footing towards the end.

She sent him a small but beautiful smile as she shook her head. "You're turning into such a sentimental fool at your advanced age," she teased him in a bland tone.

"Oh don't you start that again, you cheeky thing," he complained in a grouchy tone that made her laugh. He pulled her roughly against him, pinning her arms to her side. "So, Payson Keeler," he began with a boyish smile. He suddenly switched to a surprisingly decent Southern American accent and continued, "wanna go steady?"

Payson snorted in amusement and Sasha looked entirely affronted in return. "There's no way to ask that question without sounding like a cheesy idiot," he said in his defence.

"Which you are," she declared with a pretty laugh, leaning slightly back in his tight embrace.

"Only for you, _dragă,"_ he assured her, releasing one arm so that he could play with blonde strands of hair that fell around her face. She smiled and reached up on her toes to kiss him surely on the lips, answering his earlier question by the best possible means. "So is that a yes?" he confirmed with a grin, lowering his head in eager anticipation for her confirmation.

She kissed him again, reaching her hand up behind his neck in order to deepen the kiss. After a few moments she pulled away with a satisfied purr, smiling at Sasha's hooded expression. He buried his fingers in her hair, dragging her in for another kiss. Their lips met heatedly this time, and he felt her lips open in response to the unconscious instruction of his own. He pushed further, slipping his tongue past her lips briefly before pulling back and trailing kisses away from her mouth. He couldn't resist congratulating himself on the low hum of enjoyment he engendered from her.

"Mmmm, I'm so glad you're here," he murmured against her neck and pulled back to look her in the eye. "Seeing you . . . it was exactly what I needed."

"I was worried I might distract you," she admitted sheepishly, biting nervously on her lip. "With everything that's happening with Nikolai, you didn't need one more thing to think about. I didn't think I should come."

He looked at her gently, her unselfishness warming his heart. "That's exactly why I did need you, Payson," he responded firmly. "I needed something concrete to focus on and to stop my thoughts from wandering. I needed something good to think about."

She couldn't help but smile at the heartfelt admission. She happily leaned her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his middle, smiling wider as he completed the embrace by shifting his arms around her shoulders and waist.

"So where do we go from here?" she asked quietly, not allowing the practical elements of the reunion to escape their attention.

He shrugged and allowed a small chuckle before he replied. "Nothing's really changed except the title," he said. "I suppose we could alert the media and make it official."

"Please no," Payson shot down with a grimace. "They were bad enough when they thought they'd discovered something after Worlds."

"My thoughts exactly," he agreed, kissing her affectionately on the forehead. "We won't hide it, but they don't need to know. They'll just overcomplicate things and make a big deal out of it.

"We'll just tell the people that matter," he confirmed.

"Speaking of which," he added, loosening his arms from around her, "I think we should go check on your mum and Howard. If I leave him alone with her too long, he'll start telling stories from our teen years and probably undo all my efforts in getting her to like me."

"I'm sure you'll grow on her," Payson assured him lightly, following as he led her by the hand up a winding staircase. Rassilon trailed behind, her nails clipping against the wooden steps.

"So you'll be keeping me around for awhile?" Sasha responded wearing a grin that lit up his entire face.

Payson grinned back. "For now," she said with a mysterious air, eyes bright with amusement.

"I don't suppose there's anything I could do to convince you to have me for a little while longer," he asked smoothly, proud that he'd managed such a charming, but slightly convoluted sentiment.

Payson tugged him to a halt and moved to the step above his in order to even out their heights. She smiled coquettishly and wrapped her fingers around his neck, bringing him in for a quick kiss. "Just keep doing that," she told him quietly, "and I think I might be persuaded."

Sasha just smiled back. He was more than happy to oblige her.

~ to be continued ~

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**  
_  
__  
_


	21. One Short Day

**Just a Number  
**

Disclaimer: I don't own **MIOBI**.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – One Short Day

"We'll see you next month," MJ said, shaking the hands of he two French Connection representatives as the final 't' was crossed and 'i' dotted on her two year contract with the company.

Payson stood and did the same, forcing a smile onto her tired face. It had been a gruelling morning and afternoon. Once word had gotten out about her meeting with fc:uk, several other London based companies had expressed interest and so the better part of the day had been spent meeting with potential sponsors and organizing a brief trip back to London in late April.

She couldn't complain – at least, not too much. She'd come out of the day with three new sponsors, a few she'd have to think about, and truckload of free merchandise. Her only real complaint was that she'd had to spend the better part of the day schmoozing her future employers, which only left her an hour to spend with her boyfriend before she had to be at the airport to catch the flight back home.

The two company reps smiled as they left, Payson and MJ obviously proficient in making them see that she was the right person for their campaign. Payson realized that the meeting had obviously been some bargain that MJ struck with Howard in order to get her here for Sasha's competition, but it was still on the two of them to close the deal. Payson sighed with relief as they left, tiredly dropping down to her chair.

"Not bad for a few hours work," MJ grinned, complimenting her self on a job well done. Payson shrugged noncommittally as she riffled through her bag for her cellphone, sending off a quick text to Sasha to let him know she'd just finished and confirming the agreed meeting place.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to see _lover boy_ now?" MJ guessed drolly, examining her nails with feigned disinterest.

Payson looked at her agent with a small frown. "Are you okay with that?" she asked, remembering that MJ and Sasha had a lot of _history_.

MJ shrugged indifferently. "I still reckon he's wrong for you in the long term," she said in a blasé manner, "but he's certainly not hurting your career right now and that's my only concern."

Payson gave her sceptical look mixed with concern. "That's not what I meant, MJ, and you know it," Payson replied. "I'm asking if you're alright because it's Sasha and . . . well, from everything I've heard you –"

"I'm fine," MJ said, saving Payson from having to complete the thought. "I am quite capable of separating my personal thoughts on Sasha from my professional ones.

"As much as it pains me to admit it," she said with a dry flourish, "the two of you are incredibly marketable – I can work with marketable.

"If anything," MJ continued more cautiously, "I though you might . . ." she trailed off, with a cough to cover the change in mood.

"As long as you're okay . . ." Payson replied in the same awkward manner. She couldn't be sure how much MJ meant what she was saying, but she couldn't find a hint of the lie in the expression and was forced to let it be. If MJ was upset by the relationship, she didn't let it show and maintained her flawless professionalism.

"I suppose as long as we are both aware that the potential conflict exists, then there isn't a problem," MJ nodded surely. "I will do everything in my power to promote your interests, Payson," she assured her, "even if that means dealing with Sasha Belov on occasion."

Payson nodded confidently. "I trust you, MJ," she told her. She felt a sense of relief now that the conversation was out of the way, and happily made her way to the Tower of London to meet Sasha for whatever he had planned.

She threw on her best incognito-incognito look, the cold weather helping in some respect as her high-collared tartan jacket, scarf and woollen cap blended in with her environment. She knew she wasn't all that recognisable – especially in England – but Sasha was, and if they wanted to keep their burgeoning relationship from the media, a little bit of covert behaviour was a necessity.

Sasha was easy to spot in the small crowd gathered outside the medieval building. He was just so tall and striking that he stood out even when he wanted blend in. He wore a slanted cap and his reading glasses as a sort of disguise, the thick frames making her think of Clark Kent/Superman and other poorly disguised alter egos. They didn't quite seem to fit his athletic frame or handsome face, but he did look adorable in them and she let out a brief laugh that seemed to catch his attention above the din of the crowd.

It only took him three long strides to reach her and drag her into his arms, leaning in for a kiss, which she happily reciprocated. Kissing Sasha was easily becoming her new favourite pastime. He hadn't been her first kiss – that honour had been stolen by Nicky 'No Drama' Russo – but every kiss with Sasha felt new. It was so different from her brief kiss with Nicky – with Nicky there had been butterflies and tingles, but with Sasha she felt her whole stomach flip from just a look and his kisses would ignite her entire body with fire.

_'This is what it's supposed to feel like,'_ she thought contentedly as they pulled away from their embrace, their gazes meeting meaningfully.

"How was your day?" he asked as he tenderly cupped her face in his hands.

"Long," she answered. "How about yours?"

"Dull," he answered, mocking her one word answer with a grin. She rolled her eyes but smiled as he laughed. "C'mon," he said, joining his hand with hers and tugging her along. "We don't have much time. What time's your flight?"

"Half-past five," she replied. "You get me for an hour and ten minutes, and then I really have to go," she said with a pout.

"Then I better make it a good hour and ten minutes," he said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before he dragged her through the crowd, nodding at a doorman that ushered them through. She awed at the cobblestone floors and ancient battlements, although she wasn't given much time to enjoy it as Sasha ushered her along a wide corridor and then out into the snowy lawn. A man dressed in orange velour medieval dress greeted them with two pairs of ice skates, and Sasha thanked him as he led her to the empty, open-air ice rink.

Payson gasped in delight. "How'd you know?" she asked him, a bright smile on her face.

"I asked your mother," Sasha replied unabashedly as they sat on a small bench and began undressing their feet. "She suggested sight seeing, but you need at least two hours to see anywhere properly, especially this place. I mentioned the ice skating rink and she said you'd like that."

"Hmm," Payson mused as she pulled the skates onto her feet, "she must be warming up to you. If she _really_ disliked you, she would have told you something awful like horse riding or fishing."

"Oi, there's nothing wrong with fishing," Sasha defended. "It's a perfectly good hobby."

"Of course it is," she conceded in an overly indulgent tone. Sasha sulked in response, his eyes darkening and his lip jutting out in an expression that she was sure he shouldn't have been capable of effecting. She would have laughed if she hadn't thought a small part of him might have been serious about it this time; fishing, after all, held an esteemed place in his heart and was connected to the few fond memories he had involving his father.

She stood to her feet, only taking a moment to find her balance on skates, and trudged the few steps it took to stand before him. She waited for him to glance up in her direction, and when he did, she bent her body towards him and drove away his pout with a chaste, but sufficient kiss.

Payson pulled back slightly, letting her hands rest upon his knees as she smiled at him, expecting him to reflect her expression. Instead what she received was a wicked smirk – the only warning she got before being pulled astride his lap and felt his lips upon her. She let out a brief yelp of surprise and delight, feeling his satisfied smirk against her lips as his fingers tangled into her hair and squeezed at her hip. Her mouth opened to his silent instructions, and tongues met in a heated battle that had every nerve ending on high alert. She anchored her arms around his neck, savouring the contact it allowed her to enjoy and deepening the kiss.

They both pulled back breathlessly after a few minutes, maintaining their position bar the inch of space between their lips. A small purr of enjoyment escaped her lips as his hand on her hip moved in small circular patterns, his fingers burning through to her skin. "This is nice," she murmured quietly, shifting slightly so she could nestle her head against his shoulder.

"It is," he agreed, swallowing deeply as her cold nose brushed against his neck, followed by her warm lips. The contrast was maddening and his fingers clenched upon her hip, probably with enough force to leave a bruise.

"But we should skate," she said, suddenly hopping to her feet, flicking from quiet seduction to playful enthusiasm with no effort at all. She moved to the skating rink and glided backwards, waiting for him to catch up. She couldn't help but laugh at his bewildered expression as he slowly came to his senses.

With renewed vigour, he quickly finished readying himself, doing up the laces and making his way onto the ice with only a tiny bit of initial awkwardness on his skates. He met her in the centre of the rink, slowly moving around one another like electrons on the same circular bearing, the band shrinking with every rotation. Eventually they were close enough to touch, but as Sasha reached out to embrace her, she shot back, her hips swaying as she carved slithering, swizzle tracks into the ice.

"You're pretty good at that," he noted as she slid to an abrupt stop.

"I used to love ice skating when I was little," she said with a bright smile, skating back towards him. She was very agile – more so than him – and so as he moved to meet her, she made a seamless change of direction and slipped from his grasp once again.

"What changed?" he asked as she laughed at his defeated expression. He skated aimlessly nearby waiting for her to come close and let her guard down. In the meantime, he tried to lull her into a false sense of security, letting her believe that he'd given up on his pursuit of her.

Payson shrugged, skating small infinities into the ice, occasionally gliding on one foot. "I loved gymnastics more," she said plainly. "There wasn't room for anything.

"I used to do heaps of sports," she added. "Ice skating, hockey, softball, tae kwon do, soccer. I had so much energy I think my parents were just trying to find anything that would tire me out. But once I fell in love with gymnastics, they all just faded into the background."

"So it was always going to be something," he mused, bringing his aimless skating closer to her and crossing part of her pattern as he took a wide berth around her. "You were never going to be just a normal girl."

She paused to think about the question, halting where the two loops crossed one another. "I suppose not," she said finally and continued in her pattern. "What about you?"

"I was always going to be a gymnast," he replied. "It's what I was raised to do. If I wasn't doing gymnastics I'd be coaching, and if I wasn't coaching I don't know what I'd be doing. Probably holed up in a cabin somewhere fishing.

"It's in my blood," he said, his expression a mixture of pride and resentment. "It's what we Belovs do."

She nodded, letting the underlying sentiments rest for now. "So that's what you'll do after the Olympics?" she asked cautiously, unaccustomed as she was of thinking of a life beyond London 2012. "Coach?"

"Most likely," Sasha nodded. "Probably somewhere on the continent rather than here in England. I'll just follow the talent.

"How about you, Pay? Ever consider coaching?" he asked.

"I thought about it after my accident, but at the time . . ." she trailed off, not wanting to voice the petty thoughts aloud.

And she didn't need to, because Sasha understood. She hadn't wanted to coach others towards a dream she couldn't achieve herself, and she was too hurt and angry at the time to consider it as more than a consolation prize. "It would have been too hard then," he said understandingly, his expression warm. "What about now?"

"Now?" she frowned. "Now I'm not really sure what comes after the Olympics," she admitted with a touch of frustration. "I think I want to get a degree – probably something to do with human biology as I've always been interested in science – but I'm not really sure after that. I suppose I'll just figure it out at college."

"That's what college is for," he agreed. "I can kinda picture you in the lab curing cancer or something like that. Whatever you end up doing, it's going to be world changing," he told her seriously.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking to him for reassurance. She had stopped moving around the ice some time ago and hadn't even noticed as he slowly closed in upon her.

"Yeah," he agreed as he placed his hands upon her waist. "You weren't made for just blending in. You were meant for something wonderful, and that doesn't just end with the Olympics."

"Thank you," she said quietly, his words something she hadn't even realized she needed to hear. She slid a little closer, reaching her arms up around his shoulders and resting her head against his chest. Sasha returned the embrace, his hands joining behind her back and keeping her close.

He ducked his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he moved slowly towards her ear. "I caught you," he whispered lowly and tightened his embrace.

She shook her head in disagreement, burrowing further into his chest and making no attempt at escape. "I let you catch me," she pronounced firmly.

"Oh really?" Sasha replied incredulously, raising one eyebrow sceptically even though she couldn't see his expression. "To what end?"

"This," she answered as she looked up, standing precariously on the tips of her skates to meet him halfway and dragging him down to her lips. With his hands securely around her mid-section, Sasha lifted her off the ground and kissed her deeply, opening his mouth to hers. He held the position until it became too uncomfortable and he had no choice but to return her to the feet and pull apart.

"You keep doing that and I won't be able to let you leave," he sighed half-jokingly as he ran his fingers through the soft golden tendrils of her hair.

"You keep doing that and I won't want to leave," she countered in the same tone – a mixture of amusement and yearning.

"Speaking of which," she said, glancing at her watch – a gift she'd received that morning from the Tissot representatives. "We've got twenty minutes."

"Alright," he said, removing his arms from around her and taking her small hand in his larger one. "Then I think we should use the time we have left for you to show me what you can do on these," he said as he nodded down at her ice skates.

"I only know a few tricks," she replied, reluctant to comply, "and I haven't had proper lessons since I was about nine so I'm probably going to fall on my ass and it's going to look really ugly."

"Let's see it, Keeler," he cajoled, letting go of her hand. "No excuses."

She sighed and made her way to the outer edge of the rink so that she had enough ground to work with. She started with some basic tricks to get her in the right frame of mind – skating backwards, gliding on one foot, and a basic spin. When she was ready, she skated back to the edge and began to speed skate the full perimeter to build up her momentum and then skated down the length, taking off from her right foot, doing a half turn in the air and landing backwards on the other foot, lifting the free leg in the air and bending low to the ground with her arms spread for balance.

Sasha applauded loudly, awed by the performance. It wasn't the greatest waltz jump he'd seen in his life – not that he watched a lot of figure skating or even knew what to name it – but it was certainly the best he'd seen by a gymnast. She lowered her leg as she came to a stop and then skated back towards him.

He shook his head in wonderment. "How can you do that and not think you're capable of grace?" he asked her incredulously. "That was incredible, Payson."

"That's different," she shrugged. "And that was really bad. I barely kept my balance on the landing – that's why I had to go into the attitude. I would have been eating ice otherwise."

"You completely baffle me," he said with smirk of approval. "I don't think I've ever met anyone so . . . I don't even have the words to describe you," he said with a laugh, words failing him. "In any language."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked with a hint of mirth.

"It is," he assured her with a charming smile. "You are, quite simply . . . _de nedescris_."

"And what does that mean?" she asked sweetly, tilting her head to the side and looking up at him through her lashes. He loved when she did that. It gave him a small thrill because he knew he was the only one who got to see that side of her – the coquettish, flirty side of her – and that such a look was reserved only for him.

"It means . . . beyond description," he said, pausing briefly to choose the correct translation. "Like . . . je ne sais quoi.

"_Tu ai ceva aparte_," he added, resorting to a Romanian idiom that said it best.

"It sounds better in Romanian," she told him.

"Most things do," he said with a touch of national pride. Despite his decision to compete for England and not Romania during his teens, Romania would always be his homeland in a way that England could not be.

"Will you teach me?" she asked him, her voice lacking certainty and the lip caught between her teeth portraying her cautiousness. "I mean, you don't have to . . ."

"Another time, _dragă_," he told her gently as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his side. "I think our tenure together is almost at its end."

She glanced down at her watch and saw that he was right. They slid together off the ice, taking off the skates and returning them to the orange-attired courtier who met them at the door.

"Will you come with me to the airport?" she asked as they made their way to the car that had been arranged to take her to Heathrow.

"Of course," Sasha nodded, opening the door for her and letting her in before he took the seat next to her. The journey was mostly silent, but a comfortable silence with Payson curled into his side and his arms tightly around her shoulders. It surprised him that he could become so accustomed to having someone around him in such a short time that he was already wondering what he was going to do without her.

She had become so much to him in the few months that he had known her and it continually amazed him. She was already one of his closest friends – someone he felt he could tell almost anything to without judgment or repose. He felt comfortable enough with her that when everything happening with Nikolai had finally gotten too much to deal with on his own, she was the person he choose to lean on and who helped him through.

He'd never had that sort of relationship with any woman in his life outside of his mother and Viola – his mother's best friend and his surrogate aunt. He'd never really been close friends with a woman, especially not like this. Attraction and friendship weren't usually so compatible for him and it was strange to him that he could have that friendship with her and still have this incredible attraction that burned between them. He kept expecting one to consume the other, forcing him to choose between the friendship he had come to depend upon and the relationship that had lingered tantalizingly, just out of his grasp. That he could have both was a pleasant surprise.

His thoughts trailed off as he suddenly felt her shift against him, her hand against his cheek bringing him completely back to the present. "Hmm?" he asked, hoping she hadn't been trying to get his attention for too long.

"You just looked very thoughtful," she replied, using her fingers to shift the crease from his brow. "What were you thinking about?"

"You," he answered honestly. "And maybe a little about us."

She frowned a little, misinterpreting the content of his thoughts. "I thought it didn't change things," she said in a small voice, having a sudden, irrational fear that he was about to change his mind.

"It doesn't," he assured her, kissing her gently on the forehead. "It just gives me more reasons to miss you when you go.

"But it also gives me an excuse to come see you," he added in a brighter tone, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Not unless it's necessary," she told him in a stern voice, her eyes narrowed dangerously, daring him to argue with her. "You still have to train for the Olympics so no showing up in Boulder without good reason, okay?"

"Alright, no popping up in Boulder," he promised laughingly, already thinking of about a million ways to get around her little condition. She continued to look stern, her expression conveying just how serious she was about it. He smiled gently, running his hand through her hair. "_Frumoasa altruistă fată mea,"_ he murmured affectionately, holding her gaze. "I promise.

"That goes both ways," he added, feigning solemnity despite meaning his next words in their total enormity. "I don't want you checking up on me, Pay, just because Nikolai's sick," he said more seriously.

"But that's different," Payson protested. "I worry about you," she admitted with a frown.

"I'm okay," he assured her, feeling glad for her compassion. "Or I will be," he conceded when she looked unconvinced. "It's a lot to come to terms with but I'm getting there and Nikolai's in better condition than he was, and he's got the best doctors in the country monitoring his case.

"You don't have to worry about me, _dragă_," he told her smoothly, knowing it probably wouldn't do much good.

She frowned and shook her head. "Just promise me you won't keep it to yourself," she said finally. "I'm going to worry about you regardless, so you might as well tell me the truth," she said in her plain, logical way.

"Okay, love," he smiled, finding it hard not to with how sweet and Payson-like she was being. "That I can do."

She nodded and resumed her previous position, laying her head against his shoulder and maintaining their quiet closeness for the remainder of the journey. They said their goodbyes in the car, rather than risk being spotted by some lingering journalist staking out the airport. He kissed her soundly, knowing that it would be the last time he got to kiss her in a long time (although probably not as long as she thought).

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said as they parted, his hands lingering in her hair. "Actually, call me when you land," he said, changing his mind.

"It'll be like, three in the morning, Sasha," she said with a laugh. He looked sulky and she laughed louder. "I'll call when I get back to Boulder – it should be a more reasonable hour by then," she conceded.

Appeased by her concession, he leaned in to capture her lips one last time in a gentle, chaste kiss. "_La revedere, dragă,_" he said as he pulled away.

She nodded and repeated his words, her accent only slightly awkward as she formed the foreign words on her tongue. "_La revedere, Alexandru."_

~ to be continued ~

I can't say how much I love the phrase "Nicky No Drama Russo". Whenever I see his name now I add the 'no drama' part and it never fails to make me giggle a little. Ah yes, see where I get my kicks. I will continue to think of it as the best nickname (mind the pun) ever.

On other notes, I know realize that they're talking about very disconnected futures here, but it's still early days and plans are liable to change. The future plans they're talking about (Sasha's particularly) have been ruminating for 3 or so years, so these aren't just going to change over night even though he is starting to see the future as something they will have together.

* * *

**Notes:**

_**Swizzles**_: A way of moving across the ice on two feet by pushing the feet outwards from a 90 degree angle V and then pulling them together again, forming an oval on the ice. Also known as scissors, fishes, or sculling. (Wiki definition)

**_Waltz jump_**: a 180 degree rotation, one of the first jumps skaters learn. (Wiki definition)

**_Attitude_**: A leg position in which the free leg is lifted behind the body with the knee bent at an angle and is held behind at a 90-degree angle to the skating foot. (Wiki definition)

* * *

**Translations:**

**_De nedescris_:** indescribable (impossible to describe)/astounding/intense/beyond description. Also has a slightly negative connotation – as in cannot/should not be described – but it was the closest I could find to what I wanted.

**_Tu ai ceva aparte_:** you have something special/something I can't put my finger on. Essentially 'je ne sais quoi' – I am indebted to Tricia and Farscape of the Romanian wordreference forum for their help.

**_Frumoasa altruistă fată mea_:** My beautiful, selfless girl.

**_La revedere_:** good bye (for now)


	22. Back to Reality

**Just a Number  
**

Disclaimer: I don't own **MIOBI**.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Back to Reality

_British Airways Flight 219 – Heathrow to Denver_

"So how was your date?" Kim asked, trying to distract her daughter from the nerve-wracking experience of flying.

Payson sent her a grateful smile, her hands clenching on the armrests as the nose tilted up towards the sky and plane bounced from the tarmac. She was always bad with the take-off and landing, but usually okay when she got in the air. "It was good," she said, some of the colour returning to her face in the form of a blush. "Not long enough," she added with a genuine smile.

"What did you end up doing?" she inquired thoughtfully.

Payson laughed a little at the feigned ignorance. "Sasha said he asked you for advice," she said drolly.

Kim hummed in amusement, her expression a mixture of surprise and approval. "That was admittedly very sweet of him," she mused, "although I was very tempted tell him to take you bowling," she added, laughing as Payson made a face of disgust.

"I think he would have been a bit sceptical if you had," Payson groused, at least hoping that Sasha knew her well enough to be sceptical.

"I think so too," Kim smiled, seeing Payson relax more and more as the plane gradually returned to equilibrium. When the 'fasten seatbelts' sign flashed off, she immediately reclined her seat and settled down to sleep for the better part of the flight, dreaming of her blonde-haired Romeo.

* * *

_Denver International Airport_

Sometimes Payson wished her agent wasn't so good at her job. A lesser agent than MJ Martin would not have thought to have a media gauntlet ready for her at Denver Airport asking questions about her trip and her new sponsors. A lesser agent would be incapable of stirring up such a buzz over a niche market sport.

"Payson, is it true you're replacing Taylor Swift as the face of **French Connection** here in America?" one reporter called as she tried to make her way through to the other side.

"I don't know about that," she said, throwing them a pleasant smile. She took a quick glance at MJ, checking whether she was allowed to say anything before she continued. "I've only been signed to them for half a day and I'll be starting my first campaign with them next month. If I'm lucky it might mean working along side Taylor rather than taking her place."

"How was Italy, Payson?" asked another journalist.

"It's beautiful," Payson replied. "I wish I had more time to explore, but I had a lot of work to do while I was there. What I did see of it was incredible and I hope to go back there some day and really see the country."

"Payson, you just came from England," said another reporter, something in his voice immediately putting her off ease. "Does that have anything to do with Sasha Belov?"

She had to laugh because it was a ridiculous question, even if the answer to it was yes in a roundabout way. "I was in England because **French Connection**'s offices are based in London," she told them plainly. "If they were based in China I suppose you'd be asking me if I was organizing a hit against Genji Cho."

"I suppose that's one way of eliminating the competition," her mother snorted beside her, making it clear to anyone listening just where Payson got her strange sense of humour. The press laughed at the joke – albeit it awkwardly – and Payson successfully evaded further questioning about herself and Sasha. There were a few additional questions before MJ brought things to a close, claiming that Payson was exhausted from her flight and eager to see her family. The security led them to where Mark and Becca were waiting to greet them and take them home.

Payson was eager to see both of them, even though it wasn't really unusual for her to be away for a similar length of time for a competition. Although she knew intellectually there wasn't any real difference between going to another country to compete and going to another country for endorsements, it had felt different and she was happy to have her family there.

Together Kim and Payson eagerly regaled tales of what they'd seen and where they'd been. Working so close to the Alps had put them right next to the border, making it an easy journey to the North Eastern regions of France. The old buildings were beautiful and like nothing she'd seen in her homeland. They'd visited castles and opera houses and galleries and managed to see as much of the region as possible in such a short time.

"Did you get me anything?" Becca asked eagerly, her reason for coming to the airport more than apparent.

"I knew we forgot something," Kim gasped, grinning back at Payson.

"Not funny," Becca muttered and crossed her arms over her chest.

* * *

_Keeler Residence_

"Home sweet home," Mark announced as they pulled into the drive. They unloaded the car, with Becca being extra helpful so they could get to her presents faster.

"Not all of it's for you, Bec," Payson warned as she handed over a bag full of cosmetics and various other products she'd been given. Becca's eyes lit up like a kid in a candy shop and Payson seriously wondered where Becca got it from, as neither she nor her mother had even close to the same interest in those girly kinds of things. Becca, compared to Payson's reaction, was in her own personal heaven, choosing the best products for herself and leaving what remained for Payson to dispose of as she pleased.

"This hasn't even been released yet," Becca gasped, seeming to recognize something amongst Payson's bag of treats. "Can I have this?" she asked, just to be safe, as she lifted a dual ended lip-gloss up for inspection.

"Um . . . sure," Payson answered. She didn't really know what was so special about this particular lip-gloss, but if Becca really wanted it she'd be happy to oblige. She glanced at her watch – still set to London time – and was relieved to see that it was finally after five o'clock. "I have to make a phone call," she announced as she left the room with her cellphone in hand, already directing the phone towards Sasha's contact.

"I'm gonna put this stuff away," Becca said, sensing that her parents wanted to talk in private – probably about Payson. She rose quickly to her feet, careful not to drop anything from her heap of products as she ducked quickly into her own bedroom.

"Looks like the trip really did her some good," Mark commented, smiling gently at his wife. "Even if it was a working holiday."

"She really needed it," Kim agreed. She grimaced, unsure of how she was going to break the news to her husband that his little girl was now dating a man renowned by the media as a heartbreaker.

"She wasn't quite herself before we left," she continued. "You realize why, don't you?"

Mark grimaced, the mood of the conversation turning suddenly tense. He'd had his guesses about what was making his daughter so sad and anxious, and he was pretty certain it had something to do with Sasha Belov. He'd done a few internet searches while they were gone, looking for whatever it was that had gotten to Payson, but there was nothing on the internet to give him guidance and frankly that just concerned him more. _That man_ had clearly said something to hurt his daughter and Mark could not condone it.

"She was worried about him," Kim said, watching him carefully to make sure he understood. "Not about something he'd done to upset her," she said, guessing Mark's thoughts.

"I don't know the exact details," she explained solemnly. "From what I gathered, Sasha's coach had some kind of accident last fortnight and is in hospital right now. It's pretty serious."

"So he can't train? That's what she was worried about?" Mark asked, finding it difficult to form sympathy when he felt certain there was some kind of trick to it.

"Mark," she warned, "you know it's more than that. Think about what Payson and the rest of the girls would be like if something happened to Marty. They'd all be devastated and whether or not they could train would be the last thing on their minds."

Mark nodded, reluctantly accepting what a coach meant to his athlete and the repercussions of that bond. "She cares about him that much?" he asked sceptically.

"They're friends," Kim responded, "and she cares about him a lot." She paused, a large part of her was reluctant to go on. "That's why she needed to see him," she said finally, letting the words fall heavily between them.

"And that's why you went to England?" Mark asked coolly.

"Yes and no," Kim answered. "Payson wouldn't have gone to see him if Sasha's agent hadn't asked for her to be at his competition," she said vaguely, wording things so they weren't technically lies, but so that Mark wouldn't be angered by the truth. "She didn't want to distract him."

"I thought we were on the same page, Kim," Mark continued, his features creased with confusion. "That man isn't good enough for her."

"I don't know," Kim sighed, shrugging her shoulder. "What I do know is whether he's good enough for her or not, she was worried sick about him before she left and she's better for seeing him. She needed to see that he was okay – to put her mind at ease.

"And he needed her too," she finished softly.

Mark shook his head, some of the usual gentleness returning to his face as he spoke. "I should have known it wouldn't last," he sighed. Kim frowned at his words and he went on to explain himself. "Weren't you about to tell me that the whole 'waiting until after the Olympics' deal was officially dead?"

Kim nodded. "Is it really so bad?" she asked him. "I know he's older and he has a reputation, but does any of that really matter? All that matters is that he makes her happy."

"You're really going to play that against me, aren't you?" Mark asked, frowning in annoyance.

"Yes," Kim told him. "And it's not like he can really do anything from England, so you're still pretty safe in that department."

Mark sighed and put his arm around her, pulling her into his side. "I still don't like him," he confirmed, accepting that his daughter had herself a boyfriend, even he couldn't accept the man in question.

"That's fine," Kim accepted, looping her arms around his waist. "Just as long as you know that Payson does and I don't think he'll be going away any time soon."

"So I'm just going to have to get used to Sasha Belov?" he grimaced. "For now," he added.

Kim just smiled. She had a feeling Sasha Belov was going to be around a lot longer that Mark thought.

* * *

_The Rock_

Payson was careful not to push herself too hard in training after almost a week away from the gym. It wasn't like she'd lost skills – it wasn't that long an absence – but she hadn't had the equipment for anything more than conditioning and barre exercises while she was away, so there was no sense throwing herself into things at full force.

"Pay, are you ready to go?" Kaylie asked, standing with the other three by the gym door. Like Payson, they had all changed form their gym attire, getting ready to head to Spruce Juice for an hour or so before they had to be back here for the photo shoot.

"Give me a second," she said, watching as Marty made his way back to his office and checking the positions of Summer and her mother. "I just wanted to talk to Marty before we go."

They nodded and she quickly mounted the stairs after their coach.

"Payson," he greeted, frowning a little at her unexpected entrance. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" he guessed.

She nodded, her lips forming a determined line. "Not that it's any of your business," she began, "but nobody in this gym knows how to keep a secret – not that it really is one – and it's bound to get back to you.

"I'm dating Sasha," she said straightforwardly, her eyes narrowing in challenge.

"Alright," he said. He was a little taken aback, although this was more to do with Payson's upfront behaviour than what she revealed. He'd suspected as much since Thanksgiving, but he'd never acted on his suspicions when it came to the other gymnasts, so it didn't seem fair to single out Payson simply because of Sasha.

"I know it's presumptuous of me," she continued, "but I'm going to assume that you're not going to invoke the no-dating rule."

"No," he agreed. "There'd be no point. Any other gym would take you on in a heartbeat."

"Well, that's all then," she said determinedly, turning on her heel.

"Payson," he said before she could leave. "I just wanted to say . . . all the best," he said awkwardly, the words not coming out the way he wanted them to.

Payson blinked at him, tilting her head in confusion but seeming to understand that Marty was giving her his blessing. "Why the change of heart?" she asked, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could censor herself. It wasn't entirely appropriate for her to be challenging her coach's decision like this, even if it was in regards to non-gymnastics matters.

Marty shrugged. "Sash' has had a lot of bad luck when it comes to relationships, and not just the romantic kind," he said with a guilty smile. "I guess it's about time he had something good in his life."

She gazed at him seriously, her eyes searching for any trace of insincerity. "Nikolai's sick," she said, hoping that she was doing the right thing in telling Marty. The surprise and distress that flashed across his features told her she hadn't misjudged Marty's concern for Sasha.

"Is Sasha alright?" he asked.

"He is," she nodded.

"Thank you for telling me, Payson," Marty said gratefully. "I'll check in with him some time this week." Payson smiled a little, feeling relieved to know that there would be another person watching out for him.

"What did you need to talk to Marty about?" Lauren fished as she returned to the group.

"I'll tell you when we get to Spruce Juice," Payson promised, grabbing her gym bag from the floor. They all piled into Payson's SUV, leaving the other cars at the gym.

"So spill, Payson," Lauren demanded eagerly as they sat down in the half-empty juice bar.

"I told Marty that Sasha and I are dating," Payson announced stonily, playing down the information she imparted.

"You told Marty?" Lauren gaped, eyes bulging. "Are you serious? What if he kicks you out?"

Kaylie looked similarly, shocked although for a different reason. "That's what you picked out of it?" she asked Lauren. "She just said she's dating Sasha Belov.

"Are you really dating Sasha?" she asked, turning her head back to Payson.

"Well, duh," Lauren shrugged. "The guy flew four thousand miles to come see her. They're dating no matter what either of them have to say about it."

"So it's official?" asked Emily, looking eager for more details. "What made you change your mind?"

Payson shook her head, looking at the three seriously. "Any preference for what question I answer first?" she asked them sarcastically.

"Answer Emily's first," Lauren replied, ignoring the sarcasm. "I wanna know how you went from 'he's not my boyfriend, he's just my friend who I talk to constantly and wanna make out with' to telling our coach before your THREE BEST FRIENDS," she said, with a dramatic expression of hurt.

"I wanted to get the practical part out of the way first," she said simply, ever pragmatic. "I realized Marty would be more reasonable with regards to the no-dating rule if he heard it from me rather than, say, Summer."

"Good point," Lauren agreed with a pained look. She still remembered how Marty had reacted when Summer outted Carter just before Nationals. Her boyfriend (Kaylie's at the time – it was complicated) had been unable to compete due to the suspension, losing a whole year of international experience leading up to the Olympics. He was lucky it was early in the cycle, as that sort of thing could be catastrophic at this stage.

"And on that point," Payson added, "this stays between us four, okay? I already had to deal with Summer sticking her nose in, and I don't want some sordid Chinese whispers version of things getting back to my mom." She sent Lauren a pointed look, all of them knowing that Lauren had a propensity for such gossip.

"Yeah, yeah," Lauren waved off. "If you're all done with the fine print, can we get to the good stuff? We want details, Keeler." Emily and Kaylie nodded in eager agreement, both sitting further forward in their chairs and ignoring their drinks.

"Now, when we last left our heroes," Lauren continued, giving a dramatic recap, "Payson and Sasha parted ways after a _very_ romantic goodbye here in Boulder, which _somebody_ didn't tell us about until four days after the event, and had been sending each other cute little text messages that we wouldn't even know about if Kaylie hadn't confused her phone with Payson's."

Payson rolled her eyes, not the slightest bit oblivious to the hints Lauren was dropping. It wasn't like she had been trying to keep it a secret at the time; she just didn't think it was any of their business. Lauren had disagreed and refused to speak to Payson for a whole day (which was kind of a blessing) until she realized that she wouldn't get any of the details that way.

"I really need to start being more careful with my phone," Payson muttered to herself.

"The point is," Lauren said, raising her voice a little, "that you went from that to boyfriend/girlfriend and there's only one way that could have happened," she said, her voice dropping again to draw out the suspense.

"You went to see him," she accused with a knowing smile, her eyes alight with mischief.

Payson's eyes widened a little, but she held the rest of her face neutral. She was surprised that Lauren had been able to guess the events that took place, even if it was in the vaguest possible sense and felt slightly guilty for all the times when she scoffed as Lauren proclaimed herself a relationship expert.

Kaylie was quick to defend her. "Maybe that's what you'd do, Lo," she said plainly, "but Payson's not going to just throw herself at a guy that's not interested in a relationship." It was the sort of jibe that was allowed between best friends – aimed more at Lauren than it was at Payson – but still a little hurtful.

"Except that Sasha is interested," Emily obliging corrected, "so she wouldn't really have been throwing herself at him. It's not that he didn't want a relationship, he just knew that there are bigger things going on right now and that a relationship can wait." Of all of them, Emily was the one who understood things best, as Emily's relationship with Damon fit into the same category of 'officially on-hold until post-London 2012'.

"Doomed to failure," Lauren scoffed. "If two people want to be together then nothing else matters. Obviously Payson wanted to be with Sasha, and viola," she said with a grand gesture.

"Oh you think you're so clever, Keeler," Lauren said, turning to face Payson, "telling us all you were working in Europe when the whole time you were sneaking off to canoodle with Sasha in Venice or Rome."

"I was working," Payson protested. "And I was in Aosta Valley and Tuscany, not Venice or Rome.

"I went to London for the French Connection meeting and I managed to catch up with Sasha while I was there," she announced straightforwardly, having enough of Lauren's twisted imaginings. "We went on a date and . . . ugh . . . it's going to sound completely dorky – and believe me, it was – but he asked me to be his girlfriend in the corniest possible way," she said, shaking her head as a fond smile blossomed on her lips, "And . . . well . . . yeah," she finished awkwardly.

The girls squealed in unison and immediately began bombarding her for further details, which Payson offered with great reluctance. She kept some details to herself – partly for Sasha's privacy and partly because she considered some details too precious to be shared with anyone but him.

"I can't believe that Payson 'no-sex-until-after-the-Olympics-and-maybe-not-even-then' Keeler got herself a boyfriend," Lauren grinned.

"Oh no, Lauren, he's _all man_," Emily joked, repeating Lauren's words from Sasha's visit. "I think you officially have the most awesome boyfriend in the group," she said to Payson, laughing to herself.

"No he's not," Kaylie protested. "I mean, Damon's a rockstar," she added weakly.

"Rockstar trumps gymnast?" Payson asked curiously.

"I guess so," Emily shrugged, "but Sasha's like gymnastics version of a rockstar and he's like huge. I think that trumps everything."

"You should tell **_People_** about Sasha at the shoot for the Fashion Show," Lauren gasped excitedly. "The scoop would really get them on the bandwagon, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," Payson frowned. "We don't really want the media making a big deal about it."

"Yeah, Lauren," Kaylie agreed. "It's supposed to be about The Rock and giving back to the community. Not Payson's love life."

Payson nodded, agreeing with what Kaylie was saying even if she wasn't quite sold on the way she said it.

Lauren was less convinced. "I don't see why it can't be about both," she shrugged. "Payson's 'love life' could really generate some interest in The Rock and in the Fashion Show, and that's gotta be good for the community. The more people we get interested the more money we can raise for the cause thingee."

"Illiteracy," Emily supplied.

"Guys, it doesn't matter," Payson said authoritatively, settling things before Kaylie had the chance to argue back and possibly say something she might regret later. "Sasha and I already decided we're not telling the media, at least not any time soon. I'm sure the four of us are perfectly capable of generating the interest needed. We're gold medallist gymnasts, remember," she encouraged. "It's kind of a big deal."

"Fine," Lauren sulkily agreed, still thinking about how much more interested people would be if one of those gymnasts happened to be dating the legendary Sasha Belov. More interest meant more cameras and in Lauren's mind, there could never be too many cameras. "Just know that I hold you personally responsible, Keeler, if we make it into any less than four media outlets."

Payson just rolled her eyes tiredly. "Geez, Lauren. And here I was thinking you were doing if for the kids."

"Kids schmids," Lauren said breezily. "It's not like they can read."

~ to be continued ~

I'm currently thinking of this chapter as a necessary evil so that we can get back to all the awesome Payson/Sasha-ness. Probably not the best way to think of the chapter, but there were practical matters to deal with before we can move on completely, and unfortunately those practical matters do not involve Sasha.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

**_La revedere_:** good bye (for now)


	23. Strike a Pose

**Just a Number  
**

Disclaimer: I don't own **MIOBI**, **Vanity Fair**, **Ralph Lauren**, or **Lucie Campbell**.

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Strike a Pose

_Santa Monica Art Studios – Los Angeles, California  
February 2012_

"Alright, gents, just a few more shots and we're done 'ere," announced Griegor Murphy, the Australian photographer hired by **Vanity Fair** magazine.

"I know I'm probably being incredibly naïve," Austin commented, speaking quietly out of the side of his mouth so as not to overtly disturb the shot, "but I still don't understand why we have to do this shirtless."

"It's your agent that organized it," Sasha murmured back. "Be grateful that the building is insulated. It could be much worse." He spoke from experience – painfully cold experience.

"The floor's not insulated," Austin complained. "I think my ass might be frozen."

Sasha shrugged his shoulders, earning himself a glare from Griegor, which made him feign some kind of stretch to justify the action. "Sometimes sacrifices must be made," Sasha smirked, Griegor catching the shot as Austin put on an expression of affront.

"I think that one's gunna make the front cover," the Gold Coast native smirked, camera snapping again as Austin looked horrified at the suggestion.

"Can we move now, Gaz?" Sasha asked, raising an eyebrow at their photographer.

"Yeah, I guess," Griegor shrugged. "I didn't realize you two were so eager to get to the interview portion."

"More eager to get into some real clothing," Austin said, glaring at his spandex attire. "Is it just me, or is there something vaguely homoerotic about two guys being photographed in only the gymnastics longs?"

"It's not," Griegor responded instantly. "But you whining about it like a little baby is kind of gay.

"Your clothes are in there," he continued, pointing to one of the studios off set. "The girls'll be happy to give any assistance if needed," he suggested with a wink. Austin and Sasha looked at one another and shudder, seeing just how eager Griegor's assistants were to help them.

"So . . ." Austin began uncomfortably as they changed in the studio. "You got any plans for Tuesday night?"

Sasha turned to him with his lips tight in a stern line. "Didn't we already have this conversation, Austin?" he asked drolly. "And you agreed that it wasn't really any of your business and that Payson didn't need you interfering, so you can quit the bulldog routine any time you like."

Austin looked properly chastised and held up his hands in surrender. "That's not what I was doing," he protested. "It's just . . . you know the Fashion Show thing is Tuesday, right?"

"I do," Sasha nodded. "Thus why I don't have any plans for Valentine's Day, seeing as you're so curious," he added with a bit of a bite.

"Right," Austin agreed quickly. "Well as it currently stands, your girlfriend is going to be walking down the runway with Russo for the big finale part with the boy-girl pairs.

"And it's not that I don't like the kid," he added hastily, "but the last time they got photographed together, people seemed to think there was something going on there. And, well," he continued reluctantly, "Nicky's always had a bit of a thing for your girl and I get the feeling he might be reading too much into the runway walk, 'cos – y'know – it's Valentine's Day and all the other girls are walking with their SOs."

"So you just wanted me to go in there and stake claim upon my territory?" Sasha scoffed indignantly, the words obviously sarcastic despite flaring a very real urge of jealousy.

"I hear you've got a pretty mean right hook," Austin offered humourlessly, giving Sasha cause to wonder how much Austin really meant it when he said he liked the kid. Sasha gave him a deadpan look, forcing Austin to get to the point he was ineptly trying to make.

"I was thinking, if you've got no plans, you might wanna, you know, give back to the community?" he suggested hopefully. "It'd be great PR and Payson wouldn't exactly be unhappy to have you save her from having to plant one on Russo."

The implication of Nicky Russo trying to cosy Payson did not sit well with Sasha, even if he knew well enough that there was nothing to be jealous about. Payson had made her choice and, for all her worldliness and clever observations, she was largely oblivious to the effect she had on the opposite sex. Although, that didn't stop him wanting to drag Nicky off to one corner and make matters perfectly clear with a swift punch to his solar plexus.

Payson wasn't going to be happy with him. She'd told him on no uncertain terms that Valentine's Day was not a good enough reason to visit, especially as they'd have no time together on the day. He was certain that warning off potential rivals was no better an excuse than the 'Hallmark Holiday'. He really wished Austin had kept to his own business. The words resonated in his mind and Sasha felt his body tense at the implication as he tried to suppress the alpha-male urge to inflict various levels of harm upon any male in her vicinity.

"Fine, Austin," he ground out tensely. "I'll do it."

"Perfect," Austin agreed cheerily. "I'll let Ronnie Cruz know you're officially on board. She said something about needing your hat size, but she can get the rest of it off the internet."

Sasha groaned, reconciling to the painful knowledge that he had just been had by Austin Tucker.

"So, are you going to the party tonight?" Austin continued in the same cheery tone.

"Why? Is Nicky Russo going to try to make a move on her there as well?" Sasha asked sarcastically, feeling a little belligerent thanks to Austin's trickery. He sighed and offered a more affable response. "It's on MJ's wish list so I have to go. At least Payson will be there too, so that's something."

"Yeah, except for the part where you pretend she's not your girlfriend," Austin said, his sober tone indicating that he did not approve of that plan.

"It isn't like that, Austin," Sasha told him plainly. "We're not hiding it, but we're not gonna go out there and tell the world we're together. If somebody in the media was actually smart enough to ask the right questions, we'd tell them the truth."

"So if the interviewer today came straight out and asked you 'are you dating Payson Keeler' you'd say yes?" Austin asked him sceptically.

"Yes," Sasha responded without hesitation. "But she won't ask."

"Fifty bucks says she does," Austin wagered, unconvinced by Sasha's confidence.

"You're on," Sasha agreed. "Just try not to be such a whinger about it when it turns out I'm right."

Fifty-five minutes later, as the interview drew to a close, Austin tried his best to prolong it just long enough to win the bet. There was a serious matter of pride at stake and Austin wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else you want to ask?" he practically begged the **Vanity Fair** writer, Collette Tonkins. "Particularly Sasha. Anything at all?"

"No," Collette replied kindly, giving him a slightly cautious look. "You've given me everything I need.

"It was a pleasure talking to both of you," she said, offering her hand. Sasha shook it politely while Austin did so reluctantly with a sulky expression.

"I still can't get over how attractive you guys both are," Collette gushed. "If I'd known I would have been begging my way into sports instead of society."

"If it helps to know, you haven't missed much. You don't pick up a lot of gymnastics news until about a year out from the Olympics," Sasha imparted in a covert sort of way.

Collette smiled brightly, obviously charmed by the British Champion and his younger, American counterpart. "Well thank you both for your time," she said as she gathered her things. "The article will be out next month – April Issue. I'll see you on the cover."

Austin groaned loudly once she was gone. "I can't believe she never asked," he cried in disbelief.

"Of course she didn't ask," Sasha said with a shake of his head. "She's contractually obliged not to ask about our love lives."

"What?" Austin gaped. "You can't be serious?"

"It's MJ. You really think that sort of thing is beyond her?" Sasha asked with an incredulous look.

"No, you're right," Austin conceded. "That sort of thing has MJ Martin written all over it.

"You know I've never been asked about Kaylie and this whole time I thought we were just really good at hiding it," he said, a little disappointed in knowing the truth.

"You're not," Sasha assured him. "You should just be grateful that Marty has no interest in disrupting the status quo."

"Oh good. You're both still here," MJ said as she strode into the room, as though she actually expected them to leave after she had given them direct instructions not to. "The stylist just got here to dress you."

"A stylist?" Sasha questioned. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," MJ said drolly. "In fact, it was Howard that suggested it. He said you weren't doing enough to please your sponsors and something about you waking him up in the middle of the night."

Sasha paled as he recognized some familiar items in the rack of clothes being wheeled in – some things just stuck with a person like that. He vaguely remembered issuing some kind of threat of payback and Howard warning of repercussions. He'd forgotten about it for the most part, but Howard had always been so much better than him at holding grudges.

"Hey is that bolo tie?" Austin asked excitedly, eagerly taking the accessory in his hands. "I haven't seen a bolo tie in years."

"Tucker, you are not wearing bolo tie," Sasha said plainly, his face completely blank.

"Why not?" Austin questioned. "They're cool again, you know."

"They were never cool to begin with," Sasha retorted.

"Says you," Austin snorted before telling the stylist he wanted to go for the Johnny Cash, black suit look – with a bolo tie.

Sasha sighed, browsing through the racks for something that wouldn't make him look like an absolute ponce. He assured himself that it could only get better from here on in. In fact, it was bound to – soon he'd be seeing Payson.

* * *

_Mondrian Hotel – West Hollywood_

"Sasha Belov!" the voices from the press-pit called, all trying to grab his attention. He stopped for them, smiling – well, not exactly smiling – for photographs and answering questions about his attire – a casual navy cricket blazer, a white cotton shirt, and grey mohair slacks from **Ralph Lauren**, which he wore with some indignation – and recent endorsements, with the occasional gymnastics question thrown in for context.

"Mr Belov, are you here tonight with Payson Keeler?" one of the group asked. Like a wave of intrigue, the entire group surged forward in a single movement as they eagerly awaited his response.

As always, it was the wrong question. "Actually, I'm here with Austin Tucker," he said casually. Every member of the group immediately began scribbling on their pages, thinking they'd just gotten the scoop of a lifetime. For all intents and purposes, he was here tonight as Austin's guest – MJ had registered him as Austin's 'plus one' on the guest list – even if he'd only agreed to attending the function because he knew Payson would be there also.

"We had an interview this afternoon," he elaborated, "and Austin invited me to come along, then ditched me on the red carpet so he could be photographed with The Rock girls."

He nodded his head in Austin's direction where he was posing for pictures with the four girls a few meters further up the red carpet. He had two girls on each arm in various styles of dress that complimented each member of the group. He supressed a smile as Payson jokingly leaned her head of blonde curls against Austin's shoulder and gave him an admiring look. Emily, who stood on the same side as her, feigned attempts to get closer to Austin and push Payson out the way, while Kaylie rolled her eyes and Lauren crossed her arms looking as though she wanted nothing to do with him – Sasha suspected this was probably because of the bolo tie.

He gave a small wave as Payson caught sight of him, smiling brightly in response. She waited until the photographers were done taking photos of the group of five and then quietly excused herself from the group, retracing her steps down the carpet. She immediately gravitated towards his arms, greeting him with a hug and a warm smile.

"I think we just gave away the game, _dragă_," he murmured, ducking his head towards her in a gesture society columnists in every magazine would later describe as affectionate. He wound his arms around her bare shoulders, letting one hand tangle into the golden curls falling gently down her back.

She shrugged and buried her head into his chest, squeezing her arms around his middle. She turned her chin up towards him with an endearing expression, her brows knitted in confusion and lips forming a serious pout.

"You didn't tell me you were coming," she accused, looking faintly put out by his appearance.

Sasha smiled, freeing his hand from her hair so he could run his knuckles across her cheek. "I wanted to surprise you," he explained gently, watching carefully as the frown lifted from her expression. "I know you don't like surprises, but I was hoping you wouldn't mind this one."

"Definitely not," she agreed, a smile blooming on her features and lighting her eyes with joy. "I could get used to this kind of surprise," she said as she slid her hands up behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He responded immediately, forgetting for a moment that there was anyone else there as Payson pulled his bottom lip between her two and threaded her fingers into his hair.

"Ugh, Keeler. I did not need to see that," a voice interrupted, reminding them of their audience and forcing them to pull away. "I just ate."

Payson turned to glare at the interloper, her long-time rival, Kelly Parker. The smaller girl just smiled smugly as she offered an unapologetic shrug, clearly unaffected by the murderous intentions that Payson tried to convey in her gaze.

"Oh god. You're Sasha Belov," Kelly said, blinking in surprise as she recognized the man standing beside Payson with an arm around her waist.

"Uh, yes," Sasha confirmed cautiously, lifting an eyebrow.

"I can't believe it," Kelly continued to gape. "I mean, I heard about the rumours, but I didn't think any of it was actually real, 'cos, I mean, we are talking about Keeler," she babbled rudely. "But you are. You're Sasha Belov.

"Did Payson tell you we're best friends?" she asked suddenly. "Cause we totally are and I'm not just saying that."

Payson rolled her eyes at Kelly's obvious attempts to endear herself to Sasha. "Sasha, this is Kelly Parker," she introduced, gesturing towards the other gymnast with an unenthusiastic wave of her arm.

"Hi," Sasha said, offering his hand. Kelly practically swooned as she took it, having a very fan-girl response to the person whom she considered the greatest gymnast of all time. Payson quietly hoped that she hadn't been the same when she met Sasha for the first time.

"C'mon, _dragă_," he said, turning his attention entirely upon Payson. "We should head in before the shock wears off and they start asking questions."

She nodded and allowed him to lead her in, giving the photographers one last shot before they left. They somehow seemed perfectly co-ordinated – Sasha in his prep-school attire and her in a black polka-dotted halter dress with swing skirt. They both looked like they were on their way to a 1950s prom and looked every bit the part of high school sweethearts as Sasha pressed a kiss to the top of her head and brought her close to his side.

"I'm glad you're here," she told him softly as they made their way to the bar, Sasha ordering the same drinks he had in Tokyo. "I know I said you shouldn't come for Valentine's Day, but I was secretly hoping you'd defy me," she admitted with a blush, biting nervously upon her bottom lip.

"Believe me, I had every intention of being the perfect boyfriend and doing exactly what you told me," he told her smoothly, his wiley grin telling her that tonight was a clever way around those instructions.

"I shudder at the thought of getting on your bad side again," he teased, earning him an admonishing tap on the shoulder. "Honestly, if Austin had made such a big deal about needing another model for the Fashion Show, I would have left you well alone on Valentine's Day.

"Speaking of which," he said, pulling a small, rectangular box out of his pocket. "_Fericit Ziua Îndrăgostiţilor, dragă_," he told her lowly as he transferred the box into her grasp and kissed her gently on the cheek.

Payson gave him an admiring gaze, looking both grateful and touched by the thought. She cupped a hand gently to his cheek and stretched up to kiss him, moving her lips in a soft caress against his before pulling away. "Thank you," she told him softly.

"Don't thank me yet," he insisted, smiling irrepressibly. "You haven't even seen what it is."

She rolled her eyes but followed his implied instruction, carefully unwrapping the gift with a patience he had to envy. If it were him, he would have just torn into the package like a ravenous animal, but Payson slowly slid her finger under the tape, carefully lifting each fastening so that the festive paper remained intact. She folded the paper in a small square and slotted it into her clutch for safe keeping before finally snapping open the felt covered jewellery box.

"They're beautiful, Sasha," she gasped in delight as the box opened to reveal a pair of sapphire and diamond studded hanging earrings. She pressed another kiss to his lips and smiled gratefully. "This is too much."

"It's nothing," he assured her. "Are you going to wear them?"

She smiled and nodded seeing as that was what he obviously wanted. She carefully pulled the pearl studs from her ears and replaced them with Sasha's gift. "I'll have to find a necklace to match," she murmured thoughtfully to herself as she touched her hand to pearl drop around her neck. Sasha picked up her words and immediately his mind began turning to whether he'd seen anything to match them in Lucie Campbell in London.

"Wait," she said, recalling something he'd said earlier before he'd gone and distracted her with his thoughtful gift. "So you'll be coming back with us to Boulder?" she asked him eagerly.

"If that's okay with you, _dragă_," he teased.

"I suppose it's not too awful," she replied flippantly in a snobbish tone of voice, smiling at his mock affront. "It saves me having to walk down the runway with Nicky," she added. "According to Mrs Cruz, we're not 'aesthetically pleasing' to look at together," she laughed, shaking her head at the thought.

"And we are?" Sasha asked casually as they pushed away from the bar.

"Apparently," Payson shrugged. "At least according to Lauren. And I guess Kaylie's mom must have agreed if she let you into the show. Especially on Austin's recommendation."

"Well, how about that," he mused as he laced his fingers through hers and let her lead the way to the small table her friends had commandeered as their own. The crowd parted around her, and once again he marvelled at how oblivious Payson could be to how stunning she truly was.

He waved a hello to the group, his eyes narrowing on the less familiar male with Austin and the four girls. He recognized him from Worlds and from around The Rock last November, but this was probably the first time they'd been face-to-face.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," he said, placing down his drink on the table so he could offer a polite hand to the male gymnast without having to let go of Payson's. "Sasha Belov," he said as he shook hands with the younger male, holding tightly and giving his most intimidating stare down.

"Nick Russo," Nicky replied. To Sasha's great satisfaction, Nicky looked away first, cradling his hand under the table after the prolonged handshake. Yes, he knew it was childish and immature and completely demeaning to Payson, but jealousy was a hard emotion for him to suppress and it was for her sake that he would content himself with a staring match rather than challenging Nicky to a fistfight (which he would definitely win).

"Oh gosh, Payson. Those earrings are gorgeous," Lauren exclaimed, breaking the tension.

"Sasha bought them for me," Payson said with a soft smile and a blush as her hand immediately went to her ear to cradle to jewelled ornament. "They're my Valentine's present."

Lauren nodded, appraising them more closely and betting her daddy's entire fortune that those were real sapphires and diamonds embedded in what she reckoned was white gold at least, but equally possible to be platinum. It was a starburst design with a diamond in the centre, then a ring of sapphires followed by alternating diamonds and sapphires on the points of the star and ring of diamonds. They were beautiful and obviously expensive, but without being showy or opulent.

"Sasha, you have excellent taste," Lauren complimented, admiring not merely the gift, but the fact that they matched the girl they were bought for.

"Guess we'll have to see if anyone can top that," she grinned her eyes landing upon Kaylie with an almost sinister glint. "I doubt they will."

~ to be continued ~

I almost forgot to post this today - I blame it on the public holiday throwing off my week.

I'm hoping the 'coming out' part doesn't seem too hasty. Although they weren't really hiding it, they just weren't announcing it, and Payson obviously isn't going to try and use her relationship to gain some sort of advantage. Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Notes:**

This chapter references one of the deleted scenes on the LJ version. As always, you should head over there to see dresses and what not. Especially the ridiculously gorgeous earrings from Lucie Campbell - I so want those earrings. Sigh.

* * *

**Translations:**

**_Fericit Ziua Îndrăgostiţilor, dragă_:** Happy Valentine's Day, dear.


	24. Out in the Open

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****MIOBI**, **People Magazine** or **IMG**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Out in the Open

_Skybar, Mondrian Hotel – West Hollywood_

"You're gonna be in so much trouble tomorrow," Sasha teased in a low tone as they walked side-by-side around the empty swimming pool. The pool area was deserted, with most of the partygoers deterred by the slight chill in the air, making it perfect for the gymnastics pair looking for a little privacy and an escape from the crowds.

Payson smiled sweetly as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it lightly around her shoulders. She slid her arms into the sleeves, liking the way his clothing swam around her small frame, reminding her of how much larger he was than her.

"I'll just blame it all on you for making me anti-social," she told him flippantly. He had a bit of a reputation for eschewing these sorts of things, so it wouldn't be that much of a stretch.

"I like this jacket," she said, examining the twill around the cuff hanging over her wrist.

"I like it better on you," Sasha replied and took her hand in his. He led her to one of the sun loungers that had been left out and made himself comfortable before pulling her down beside him. She curled into his side, her body fitting perfectly against his like the missing piece of a puzzle.

Payson hummed quietly in content as she shifted closer, resting her head against his chest. "It's nice out here," she murmured quietly as her fingers traced circular patterns into the fabric of his shirt. He nodded his assent. He wouldn't risk ruining the moment by attempting some charming response and just let the comfortable silence wash over them.

"You know Nicky's harmless, right?" she said after a few moments, rolling onto her stomach and laying across half his chest so she could look up at him.

He sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry," he apologized looking genuinely remorseful. "I know that he's not a threat or anything. I don't know what came over me," he said. "I mean, it's not like he's the only guy in the universe that's going to like you."

"Yeah, but that was ages ago," she waved off. "You've nothing to worry about," she added, nuzzling his jaw and trailing feather light kisses along his neck and the skin exposed by his open collar.

"You really don't see it, do you?" he asked incredulously, lifting her chin so that he could meet her gaze. "If it were anyone else, I'd say you were just trying to appease me. You don't see the way that conversation stops when you enter the room. Or the way people fall over themselves just to see you smile.

"I would do anything for your smile, Payson," he told her gently. "_Tu ai ceva aparte_," he reminded her admiringly. "There is nobody else like you."

She flushed at his words, but there was still a part of her that refused to believe him when he complimented her in this way. "It doesn't matter what I see," she shrugged, dropping his gaze. "I only see you," she told him shyly.

"I see only you," he agreed, lifting her to his lips and kissing her deeply. His hands slid into his jacket, moving up and down her sides in slow strokes as their mouths opened against one another. She was pressed fully against him and he could feel every soft curve of her body against his muscle hardened one, feeling her chest rise and fall with every breath.

He left her lips, kissing along her neck until he reached the inviting juncture between her neck and shoulder. Her pulse reverberated against his lips, her heart hammering at a pace that matched his own. He grazed his teeth against the pulse point, earning a soft moan that only encouraged his next course of action. He bit down on her neck and then soothed the same spot with his tongue before retracing his previously line of kisses back to her mouth.

Payson enthusiastically returned his kisses, moving astride his body so she had more leverage to deepen the kiss. Her left hand trailed into his hair, massaging his scalp while the right slid into his shirt grasping at his shoulder. His tongue delved into her mouth as his hands wandered over her body. One hand slid up her thigh, exposed to him and the chilly night air by the position she had taken, grazing the tulle hem of her dress.

It was probably the most pleasure he'd ever gotten from simply 'making out', but he could already sense the alarm bells flashing in his mind telling him to stop before it went too far. Every stroke of his hands brought him in closer contact with places he knew he had to resist. He knew he had stop and he knew that he had to be the responsible partner and be the one to show restraint. In some ways Payson was mature and wise beyond her years and more of the adult than he was, but when it came to this, she was inexperienced and naïve and probably didn't even realize that they were steadily approaching a line that they weren't ready to cross.

He slowed down, kissing her languidly and waiting for her to follow his lead. She did, and the passion and heat they were building towards gently ebbed away leaving them with slow, chaste, meaningful kisses.

She sighed and pulled away, resting her head against his chest once again. "_Frumoasa nevinovată fata mea_," he murmured gently, pressing a kiss to her golden curls. "If you only knew."

* * *

_Entertainment Weekly – The Monitor  
February 13 2012_

**_Love Is All Around Us . . .  
_**_Look who's falling in love this Valentine's Weekend!_

_Katy Perry seen out at Malibu hotspot with ex-hubby, Russel Brand. Maybe cupid does strike more than once . . ._

_Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie took the kids out for a family Valentine's outing. _

_Miley Cyrus and Lindsey Lohan out and about town – really, we should have seen that one coming._

_Kate Hudson and fiancé Matthew Bellamy have a quiet candle light dinner while grandparents, Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, look after baby Aisling._

_Lady Gaga does Valentine's Day like nobody else, putting single back in fashion this season._

_Jonathan Rhys Myers was photographed with his latest arm candy, sport star Ava Munroe. _

_World Champion Gymnasts, Sasha Belov and Payson Keeler steal the show at the IMG Valentine's bash. There's no denying it now – these two are definitely an item, at least if that kiss is anything to go by._

_Austin Tucker and fellow American gymnast, Kaylie Cruz, also spotted looking close at the IMG Valentine's Bash._

_Justin Beiber and Selena Gomez looking sadly single after split last August._

_Paris Hilton and Cy Waits rock out the bachelor/bachelorette parties for their upcoming wedding._

**_Check out our poll online at and you decide which couples are going to _Make It or Break It.**

* * *

_Charter 178 – Long Beach Airport (Daugherty Field) to Denver International Airport  
February 12 2012 _

"We need to talk about what happens next."

Sasha glanced up from his book – **The Idiot** by Fyodor Dostoevsky, which was turning out to be something of a Russian Imperialist soap opera – raising an incredulous eyebrow at the female figure leaning against the seat in front of him. "Okay," he said slowly, closing his book to indicate his willingness to listen.

MJ shook her head. "In private," she added ominously, her features narrowed in a look that demanded compliance.

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully maneuverer the sleeping figure beside him, lifting Payson gently from his shoulder and setting her up against the window. He wasn't really sure how she managed to fall asleep so quickly, but she was essentially dead to the world, only giving a quiet moan of protest as he took away her human pillow. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and followed MJ to a compartment at the rear of the aeroplane where Kelly and Austin were playing a super intense game of Chinese checkers.

"Could you excuse us for a few moments?" MJ asked them painfully politely, making a small gesture to indicate she wanted them to move back to the front where they wouldn't overhear the conversation. They both nodded, Austin sending Sasha a sympathetic look as he closed the door behind him.

"Don't you think Payson should be here for this?" Sasha asked. He waited until they were alone, knowing it would unprofessional to say anything in front of her clients. "She's the one you're representing, after all."

"I've already discussed things with Payson," MJ replied snootily, "and I thought that you'd want what I have to say to be between the two of us." There was a hint of warning in her voice and in her glare, which he matched with a defiant expression.

"I want to make it clear that I have no interest in what you do with your personal life, Belov, but where it effects one of my clients, I have no option but to make it my business," she said sternly, "and in this case that means managing public perception of your relationship.

"I've already been in talks with Howard," she continued, examining her nails flippantly, "and he agreed that as Payson is the party more likely to be at risk with this affair, that I should take control of all relationship matters that arise."

Sasha frowned, having not considered the public relations ramification of their relationship at any stage in the last two and a half months. "What risks?" he asked cautiously.

MJ lifted her gaze to his, looking mildly intrigued by his response. She waved it off a moment later, giving it nothing more than a moments thought. "It's nothing that isn't manageable," she said confidently. "I'd say the benefits outweigh the risk and with the right spin, it won't be a problem.

"Which is why we need to get the story straight," she said, giving him another warning look as she drew herself up imposingly. "I want no word of this business of you flying in and seducing her right under Marty's nose. Nothing happened until England. Payson dropped by the competition out of interest, you saw her after, and things progressed from there."

"Nothing did happen until England," Sasha protested with a narrowed look.

MJ gave a derisive snort. "Sure," she muttered cynically.

"I don't want you answering any questions unless directly addressed," she continued sternly. "You let Payson take the lead unless it's something that you need to answer to. She's in charge.

"And you better work damn hard to make this work," she threatened. "I don't need you causing any sort of scandal this close to the Olympics or doing anything to throw her off her game. She's a shoe-in for gold right now, and if you do anything to change that I will hold you personally responsible, Belov."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sasha growled. "I – "

"What?" MJ cut in sarcastically. "You love her? You really expect me to believe that?"

"I care about her," Sasha responded on a gentler note. "I would never do anything to hurt her or her career."

MJ appraised him sceptically, still unconvinced by his genuine response. "Whatever," she shrugged. "I know you, Sasha," she told him. "Payson might be convinced by this perfect boyfriend routine you've got going, but I know better, and eventually she's going to see the real you."

Sasha's jaw tensed at the implication, but he offered no words of protest. There was nothing that would change MJ's opinion of him, and maybe he deserved it to some extent. He was a different person back then – a teenage boy still coming to terms with his parents' messy divorce and later his mother's death and Aurel's injury and what it meant to be a professional athlete. MJ had known him in one of the toughest times in his life, and maybe she didn't like what that had brought out in him, but it wasn't the real him and it wasn't the Sasha that Payson knew who he felt was a truer version of himself than he had been with anyone else. There were things about him that Payson knew that MJ – who he'd been with for over a year and who he'd known since he was sixteen – didn't know, putting Payson at a level of intimacy that was almost on par with Marty and Howard.

"Is there anything else?" he asked tensely, glaring at his former lover and agent.

"That's it," she said coolly. "Just don't screw it up, Sasha," she warned him one last time. "For Payson's sake."

* * *

_Denver International Airport _

"You ready?" Sasha said, pausing at the slim doors separating them from the waiting media.

Payson nodded slowly, her expression uncertain. She was mostly used to dealing with the media after more than a year, but it didn't make it any easier to just step out there and divulge the details of her relationship to the entire world. She envied the way that Kaylie could brush through the media so easily, defeating them with a laugh or an 'oh you' any time they said something she didn't want to answer.

"It'll be okay, _dragă_," Sasha assured her quietly, setting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. She nodded once more, drawing her strength from him as he stood beside her, ready to face this together.

"We can take it back, you know?" he said, offering her an out, even if it wasn't a particularly practical one. "Howard and MJ can talk their ways out of anything. I'm sure they can think up something between them if you're not ready."

"I'm ready," she told him, smiling weakly. She kissed him lightly on the lips, cradling his face in her hands. "Multumesc," she told him as she pulled away.

He smiled at the effort and stroked her cheek affectionately. "_Mulţumesc,_" he corrected gently, emphasising the 'ts' sound indicated by the cedilla in written Romanian. "I guess you don't need me to teach you after all," he said with a teasing grin.

"Oh, you're still good for some things," she said, her hands sliding around his neck. Sasha smirked to himself, recognizing the subtle signals of what was to come. The smirk was cut off as she instead turned to the swinging doors, one hand sliding down to his while the other pushed through the doors and dragged him along with her. Cameras flashed as the press called their names from every direction, and it was only thanks to MJ's facilitation that they made any sense of it at all.

**"Payson Keeler! Sasha Belov! Are you really an item?"**

It was an obvious question, but it was the question that they hadn't been asking all this time. "We are," Payson confirmed with a confident, media-dahling smile.

**"How long has it been?"**

"Not long," she replied. "We've only been dating for about . . . hmm . . . three weeks," she said, glancing at Sasha for confirmation.

"And two days," he added on with a charming grin.

"You're such a sentimental old fool," she teased him in a huffing tone, forgetting for a moment that the media were there. The petulant look she put on for him didn't really match the version of Payson Keeler that the media was used to, but then again, a smiling, charming and easy going Sasha Belov being openly affectionate with his partner wasn't exactly something they were used to either.

**"Did something happen while you were in England last month?"**

Payson nodded. "I had some free time before my meetings on the Sunday and went to the Gymnastics Championship with my Mom. I saw Sasha afterwards and we just had a really good time hanging out together and things naturally progressed," she offered a bit helplessly. It was the most vague and shallow gist of what actually happened, but saying more would give them away. Even her friends didn't know much of the finer details or how close they had become during the two months they had been in relationship limbo.

**"Were you expecting to see Sasha at the IMG party on Saturday?"**

"No," she said and glared at Sasha who returned her expression with feigned innocence. "He didn't say anything and the day before he was telling me how it sucked that we were both in LA but didn't have the time to hang out together. It was completely unexpected."

"But the good kind of unexpected," Sasha wheedled, wrapping his arm around her. She acquiesced reluctantly, leaning into him a bit more with their changed position.

**"Whose idea was it to get into a relationship this close to the games?"**

"I guess it was a mutual decision," Payson replied, the inflection rising in her voice. She glanced at Sasha, looking slightly uncertain.

"That's just what I let you believe, _dragă_," he whispered to her lowly, giving her a teasing wink. "I think we were both a little reluctant," he answered to the crowd, "but at the end of the day, we're both disciplined people and we know neither of us are going to let a relationship stop us form reaching our goals. We both understand how much this sport can take out of our lives and that we have to find ways to fit a relationship round that, not the other way around."

"A very good answer," Payson murmured to him.

**"Sasha Belov, how long will you be staying in Colorado? Is this a permanent move? Will you be training in America for the lead up to the games?"**

They both scoffed a little at the questions before Sasha answered. "I can't stay long," he said, looking apologetic as he dropped his gaze to hers. As much as he enjoyed his time with Payson, it just wasn't feasible for him to stay any longer and he was probably already pushing things by staying as long as he was. "I have to get back to my training in London on Wednesday, but I'll be staying for The Rock's fashion show tomorrow night," he said, plugging the event.

**"Will you both be walking the catwalk?"**

"You'll have to see for yourselves," Payson answered mysteriously.

**"Do you have any other plans for Valentine's Day?"**

"Do we?" Sasha asked, deferring to Payson.

"You'll have to see yourself," she shrugged, giving the same mysterious answer she had given the press. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he hoped the coquettish smile on her lips meant only good things.

He swooped down to kiss her, forgetting for a moment that he was giving the press more magazine fodder. This was probably exactly the sort of thing that MJ didn't want – it definitely didn't look like Payson was 'in charge' when he had her melting into submission under his lips – but that was the furthest thought from his mind as he held her close and felt her respond to his ministrations. He didn't really see how he could be blamed anyway as he'd been dying to kiss her since she left him hanging at the door – knowing full well what he expected from her in that moment – and that flirty smile of hers had simply shattered his resistance.

She broke away with a laugh and a look through her lashes that told him she knew exactly what she had done to him.

"You'll be the death of me," he murmured between them and she shrugged impishly, turning back to the cameras and questions as though it was nothing at all. The only evidence she gave of being affected by the kiss was the slight rosy hue to her cheeks and the way she stayed close to his side to keep herself steady.

She really was something else – something he couldn't define.

Something that set her apart

~ to be continued ~

As much as I would love to do magazine format for this one, it's bad enough that I had to type 'Justin Beiber' into my computer, I am so not googling pictures of him . . . ugh!

Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

**____****Tu ai ceve aparte: **you have something special/something I can't put my finger on.**_  
___****Frumoas nevinovata fata mea**: My beautiful, naive girl.**_  
_**


	25. Daddy's Little Girl

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Daddy's Little Girl

_Keeler Residence_

"Alright," Payson said seriously, stopping him before he could take another step in the direction of her house. "These are the things you need to know about my dad," she said straightforwardly, the grim expression on her face conveying the perverse gravity of the matter.

"Okay," Sasha said slowly, his tone incredulous. He was tempted to point out that he'd already met her mother and things had gone perfectly fine there, but the look in her eye warned that such a comment would get his head bitten right off. He had no experience with which to determine whether he was good or bad with parents and could offer nothing to persuade her that the warning was unnecessary, thus he would sit back and take instruction.

"First thing is, my dad's from Apple Valley, Minnesota. You can't joke about that," she said with an expression so serious you'd think she'd just told him that Rassilon was dead.

"About apples?" he asked curiously.

"Exactly," she pointed out. "It's a sore subject.

"My dad doesn't own a gun, but he has a gun license and he knows how to use one," she warned. "He won a shooting contest at the country fair when he was a teenager. He's going to want to show you that," she warned.

"He's mostly Republican except on certain issues," she continued, "so don't even think about starting a conversation about how you think Tony Blair and Obama should breed and make the ultimate left-wing politician who could rule both countries simultaneously."

"I wasn't actually serious about that," Sasha protested against her dark look. "Everyone knows that Tony Blair is really centre-left," he scoffed derisively, clearly not sold on Blair's Third Way.

"So no political talk?" he surmised from her warning.

"You can talk about progressive taxation and GST," she told him firmly. "You can't talk about subsidized health care, universal social welfare, or crime. You can talk about education reform – he likes talking about education reform – just don't make it about the gendered nature of wages. He's still old school and thinks men should be the breadwinners.

"He likes hockey and tennis," she said, moving on to sports and other more appropriate subjects. "He doesn't mind football, but if you try to call it gridiron you'll probably start an argument. He knows a bit about soccer, and I suppose you can talk about that as a last resort, but don't even think about mentioning cricket."

"It's okay, _dragă_, I think I can talk enough around tennis that we won't have to resort to soccer or cricket," he assured her gently, lightly squeezing her hand. The laugh he added on the end didn't seem to appease her.

"He works for IBM, so no Mac-PC jokes," she warned. "And he's in HR so no jokes about that either. He likes spy thrillers and mystery novels, and he's pretty much read every Grisham book ever written and collects old editions of Agatha Christie novels.

"Dammit, I should have gotten him a book," Payson muttered admonishingly to herself. "He'd like you better if you brought him a book."

"Payson, it's fine," Sasha told her earnestly, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "You don't need to worry."

She gave him a painfully pathetic look, biting her bottom lip between her teeth and looking unconvinced by his words. "I just want him to like you," she said in a small voice. It almost broke his heart to see her looking so nervous and uncertain.

"And fishing," she added, looking both hopeful and relieved. "You can talk about fishing," she said with a heavy sigh.

"Alright, we'll talk about fishing, _dragă,_" he told her with a gentle smile. He lifted her hand to his lips, hoping the gesture might settle her a little. "Now," he continued, "I think we better head in because I'm pretty sure I just saw the curtain twitch and if we stay out here any longer your dad's going to think we're up to something."

"Right," she nodded, managing a small smile but still looking uncomfortable about the prospect of purportedly polite dinner conversation between her father and her boyfriend.

"I'll be on my best behaviour," he assured her. "I want him to like me too."

She smiled weakly and kissed him on the cheek. "For someone who told me he was bad at relationships, you seem to be saying all the right boyfriend things right now," she said with a hint of mirth.

"Only for you, _dragă_," he smiled at her as they walked up the path to her front door. "Should I ring the bell?" he asked, unsure of where the etiquette lay in this situation.

"I don't think so," Payson frowned. "I live here."

He shrugged as she reached towards the door, but it was pulled open before she could make contact.

"Took you long enough," Becca tsked, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight French braid. "Dad was about to send out a search party.

"Did you get me anything in LA?" she asked with a bright smile, the look reminding Sasha of Payson's expression when she was trying to wheedle her way out of going to the ballet.

"Yes. He's all yours," Payson replied sarcastically with an extravagant gesture towards her boyfriend.

"Don't I have a say in this?" Sasha asked. He felt slightly awkward in the midst of it, having never seen the two sisters interact for more than a few moments. The girls looked at each other and then burst into laughter, that being the obvious answer to his question.

"Sasha, it's good to see you again," Kim greeted warmly as she entered the room, wiping her hands on a tea towel. "Oh don't mind them," she said with a dismissive wave towards her two daughters who had descended from girlish laughter to hushed whispers.

"It's nice to see you too," he offered awkwardly, unsure of how he was supposed to greet his girlfriend's mother. A handshake seemed a touch too formal and a kiss on the cheek too forward. In the end he settled on avoidance by holding out the bottle of port he'd had the forethought to purchase at Denver Airport.

"That's so thoughtful, Sasha," Kim said as she accepted the bottle. "Don't you think that was thoughtful of him, Mark?" she asked as she spotted her husband enter the room where they were gathering. He grunted indifferently.

Sasha swallowed thickly as the man approached him. He wasn't really sure what he'd been expecting, although when Payson mentioned HR he had been swayed in the direction of tall and weedy. Mark Keeler was most definitely not weedy. He looked like he had probably played football in college, or worse: ice hockey, and had the build for it – tall, broad shoulders, and a sturdy frame. He suddenly wished that he'd taken Payson's warnings a bit more seriously.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Keeler," he said, offering his hand to the other man.

Mark nodded, and took the proffered hand, applying more pressure than necessary and giving Sasha a strong silent stare. It was a little taste of his own medicine as Mark played the same intimidation game that Sasha had tried on Nicky Russo the other night, only Mark Keeler was better at it and Sasha was just as damned either way.

"Mark," Kim warned, placing her hand on his arm.

"Likewise," Mark said as he finally dropped Sasha's hand, his eyes still narrowed.

"Dad," Payson said as she came to stand beside Sasha, giving her father a cautionary look. "I'm glad I finally get to introduce you guys," she said, forcing the cheer into her voice. It seemed to work to whatever end she intended as her father's expression softened and he only looked like he wanted to injure Sasha rather than kill him.

"Sasha, would you like something to drink?" Kim asked cordially.

"Only if you're having something yourself," Sasha answered.

"Mark?" she asked. He nodded but didn't take his eyes off Sasha. "Becca, do you want to come help me get the drinks?" she asked, ushering her youngest daughter out of the room. She wasn't quite sure that she was doing the right thing in leaving Mark alone with Payson and Sasha, but she knew it wasn't fair leaving Becca to play buffer.

Silence reigned in the room as they left. "Um . . . Payson said you like . . . Agatha Christie," Sasha tried awkwardly. Payson gave him an encouraging smile as he tried to initiate conversation. "I saw _The Mousetrap_ last year in the West End. I did not see that ending coming."

"I thought you weren't supposed to reveal the ending," Mark replied blandly.

"Of course," Sasha said. "I mean . . . you can say what you like about it so long as you don't reveal the killer. Although I heard that Wikipedia gave away the secret a couple of years ago. Long live the internet," he offered with an awkward laugh.

Silence descended once again and Sasha couldn't help but feel as though he was under some kind of examination. Mark carefully watched his every move, waiting for him to step out of line in some manner and analysing the deeper meaning in every word or gesture. This only made Sasha more reluctant in attempting conversation as she shifted uncomfortably under Mark's stare.

"Drinks," Kim called as she re-entered the room. It was obvious that they'd been hastily prepared in order to return as quickly as possible. She handed a glass of pinot noir to Mark and Sasha. "Becca's just putting the dishes on the table, so we can all move to the dinning room," she suggested, looking both relieved and nervous. She and Payson seemed to have reached a silent consensus that this evening was not going to go well.

There was a slight scuffle as they navigated their seats around the circular dinner table, carefully ensuring that there was at least a seat between Sasha and Mark, and placing Payson between them as the neutral middle ground. Unfortunately, this put the two men almost across from one another and Mark hadn't stopped glaring at Sasha from the moment of his arrival.

To their merit, the three Keeler women did their best to carry the bulk of the conversation, with Sasha offering the occasional comment when he thought it was safe to do so. When Mark finally decided to speak, his words were directed at Sasha with a fierce glare.

"So how old are you exactly?" he asked coolly.

Sasha hastily swallowed his food and replied. "Twenty-six. I'll be twenty-seven in March."

"Payson's eighteen," Mark said seriously.

"Uh . . . I know," Sasha replied weakly, tensing for whatever Mark was working his way towards. He felt uneased as Mark continued his careful appraisal without saying a word, the tension building until he was ready to make his point.

"Do you think that's appropriate?" he asked plainly without a hint of malice. He sounded more worried than angry and Sash could understand that protective instinct even as Payson and Kim protested his question.

"If you had a daughter," Mark continued despite their protests, "and she was dating a man _nine years older than her_, what would you do, Mr Belov?" he asked firmly, his tone formal. He leaned his elbow on the table and clutched his hands together as though in prayer and looking all the more formidable.

"I . . . uh . . . I guess I'd be . . . concerned," Sasha said, choosing his words carefully. "I'd want to know he wasn't taking advantage of her," he added with a greater degree of certainty. "Mr Keeler, I promise you – "

"Sasha, you don't have to defend yourself," Payson cut in, stopping him by putting her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed at her father and he didn't push the topic further. To ensure the matter stayed dropped she turned to her sister (who was sitting on Sasha's other side) and started a conversation about the beam routine Becca would be showing at the next Junior National team practice.

Sasha relaxed a little as Mark's gaze dropped to the table and he offered more to the conversation, suggesting ways that Becca could bolster her scores without disrupting her routine too much. It was easier to talk about gymnastics with the girls – a nice safe subject – rather than something that might inadvertently put their father off side.

The rest of the dinner was relatively uneventful. It wasn't until Kim suggested they move into the lounge for tea and dessert that things turned tense again. The girls were asked to stay and help while Sasha and Mark were directed to the lounge room, left to their own devices to deal with each other as they saw fit.

"Um . . . you have a very nice home," Sasha offered a bit helplessly, glancing around the room. It was a nice, homely environment with lots of personal touches to reflect its inhabitants.

"Is this Payson?" he asked as he spotted a picture nearby of a small blonde girl in a dark indigo leotard. Unsurprisingly there was a gold medal hanging around her neck. Sasha took a step closer to see the picture better and confirm his guess.

"How about we just cut to chase?" Mark suggested before he had the chance. "I don't like you," he said firmly, "and no amount of false pleasantries or small talk is going to change that."

"Don't you think we should at least try for Payson's sake?" Sasha asked, not letting himself get baited into an argument.

Mark scoffed. "Why?"

"Because I'm not going anywhere," Sasha answered him seriously.

"I understand how special Payson is," he continued. "She's like no one I've ever met. I'd never do anything to hurt her," he promised genuinely, laying his soul to bear. He knew what Mark secretly expected of him, but he couldn't bring himself to say those three little words. He wouldn't pretend to feel something he didn't just to appease the man.

The stony expression in Mark's eyes flickered for an instance, but he remained unconvinced. "Maybe you won't intend to," he conceded reluctantly. "I know your kind, Mr Belov. My daughter deserves better than that, and I think ultimately, you're going to hurt her."

It was as much as Sasha could hope for. "Maybe," he sighed, deciding to change tactics. "But let me ask you this, Mr Keeler," he responded. "If you were in my position, could you give her up?"

Mark paused to consider the question for a moment before answering. "Knowing I was going to hurt her," he qualified, "I could."

"Then you're a better man than me," Sasha answered solemnly.

"What have you guys been talking about?" Payson asked hopefully as she entered the room with dessert.

"We were talking about fishing," Sasha lied, not wanting to hurt her with the truth. "I was asking about the lake by Austin's house but it turns out it's not a functional lake."

She shook her head, tsking affectionately as his arm snaked around her waist. "You do know there are functions for lakes beyond fishing," she pointed out with a teasing smile.

"And what functions might those be, _dragă_?" he asked, enticed into the rapport.

"It freezes over in the winter," she told with a somewhat flirtatious look. "That should rank at least as highly as fishing," she suggested, alluding to their last hour together in London.

"I stand corrected then," he accepted, kissing her quickly on the temple.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly as Mark slipped away, "for trying so hard with my dad."

"It's nothing," he said. He felt slightly guilty for lying to her and letting her believe things had gone better than they had, but he hadn't been lying when he told Mark he never wanted to hurt her. If anyone was going to tell her how strongly her father disapproved of him, it wasn't going to be Sasha.

She shook her head, sliding her hands up around his neck and kissing him chastely on the lips. "It's not nothing to me, Sasha," she disagreed softly. She smiled and unwrapped her arms from around him, gently tugging him to one of the seats arranged around the coffee table.

He nodded gratefully as Kim handed him a slice of pumpkin pie. Payson seated herself on the armrest of his chair, leaning against his shoulder for balance. Aside from the obvious, overall it had been a rather pleasant evening and he wouldn't mind spending more evenings the same way in years to come.

~ to be continued ~

This was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write. I knew Mark had to say something awful to Sasha, I was just undecided about how offensive it should be. Although it was fun creating a list of all the possible things that Sasha and Mark could disagree on, which is a lot seeing as Mark Keeler comes off as somewhat conservative and Sasha comes off as not conservative at all.

* * *

**Notes:**

And now you all need to head on over to the LJ version, because there's a nice bonus entry there, which is sort of the mirror image of the start of the chapter: virgowriter. livejournal. com /8953. html

* * *

**Translations:**


	26. Catwalks and Catfights

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Catwalks and Catfights

_The Rock _

Kaylie frowned as she watched her mother and her assistant, Geoffrey, fawn over the infamous Sasha Belov. They'd hardly batted an eyelash when Austin walked in earlier, but the second Sasha Belov stepped into the gym, the whole room went silent and jaws fell to the floor. It probably didn't help that as soon as he arrived Payson had thrown herself into his arms and pulled him into a pretty heated liplock right there with the entire gym as an audience.

"My god you're attractive," Ronnie appraised, slowly circling around him like an animal stalking its prey.

Geoffrey hummed in agreement. "Just look at you," he said, gesturing vaguely. "All tall and gorgeous like some sort of Nowergian god. Where did you say you were from?"

"Romania," Sasha said, going with the short answer rather than the long-winded version about his parents' origins. He'd actually been born in England and spent the better part of his life in London, but that wasn't really the answer that Geoffrey was looking for.

"_Romania_," Geoffrey and Ronnie echoed, trying to mimic his accent.

"Did item 116 come in on time?" Ronnie asked, looking at Geoffrey.

"116," Geoffrey repeated thoughtfully. "Is that the . . . Is that for him?" he asked looking titillated by the prospect. "Alexander, you're going to look stunning," Geoffrey insisted as Ronnie nodded her assent. Sasha didn't correct him.

"Come right with me," he said, grabbing Sasha's arm and tugging the slightly confounded gymnast off towards the private dressing area. "I'll make sure you look your very best."

"Mom, are these the right shoes for this dress?" Kaylie asked, trying to regain her mother's attention.

"Hmm," Ronnie asked, still slightly dazed in the afterglow of Sasha's enigmatic presence. "Oh of course, hunny," she said distractedly. "Do you know where Payson is?" she asked. "I want to make sure that the last outfit looks right. I'm going to rearrange the last section so we can make her and Sasha the _main feature_ of the show," she announced excitedly, her hands shooting out in an extravagant gesture.

"But I thought . . ." Kaylie began trailing off dejectedly.

"Oh I know you were looking forward to this, Kaylie, but you have to think about what's best for everyone," Ronnie soothed. "Obviously we want to get _as much_ out of this as possible and I think we'll have a better chance of achieving that if we put Payson and Sasha as the _main event_.

"You've got to lead with your best assets," she continued, thinking more like a cut throat image manager than an overly involved mother. "Sasha and Payson are the only thing _anyone's_ talking about right now, and just look at them together," she gushed. "They're so _gorgeous_, they're just going to steal the show no matter where I put them so we might as well finish off on the best note."

"You might as well," Kaylie agreed disdainfully and turned back to her dressing table. Her mother hardly noticed, flouncing away to find Payson and set things up for Part II of the Payson/Sasha show.

"Aw, is little Kaylie missing momsie's attention?" Kelly Parker asked poisonously, sending Kaylie a look that might have been deemed sympathetic from anyone else. "Can't stand how everyone's hopping on the Paysha bandwagon?"

"Please," Kaylie lied through her teeth. "I just don't see the big deal. It's not like Payson's the only person around here with a famous boyfriend."

Kelly looked at her incredulously and shrugged her shoulders. She sat down at the vanity opposite Kaylie's and began delicately smoothing her hair with a feigned indifference that made her look like a preening cat. "You know I heard that one of the deals that Payson turned down in Europe was a million dollar ad campaign with **Stella Artois**," she mused casually. "Can you believe that? Someone wants to pay her a million dollars to sell beer to Europeans and she said no.

"It's a disgrace really," she continued flippantly. "All this just because she's dating Sasha Belov and she doesn't even care. Almost makes you want to hate her, doesn't it?" she asked, glancing across the mirror.

"What are you even doing here?" Kaylie asked darkly, rather than respond to Kelly's question.

"I'm here to support my teammates, of course," Kelly beamed brightly, her smile falsely sweet. "MJ said it would look great for my endorsements if I got seen here with the happy couple.

"And look, here she is," she said with a flourish of her hand as a flustered looking Payson came rushing towards them. "What happened to your hair, Keeler?" she asked as Payson sat down beside Kaylie. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, clearly jumping to her own conclusions about how it got so mussed.

Payson rolled her eyes, wincing when she got a good look at herself and doing her best to get it back into some proper order. "It's not what you think," she insisted. "I got in a fight with my second dress. It couldn't work out how to get out of it and this is the result."

"I'm sure that Sasha would have been more than willing to offer his services," Kelly suggested with a wicked smile. She grinned broadly as Payson flushed a brilliant red at the insinuation, ducking her head to try and hide her embarrassment.

"Should you even be back here, Kelly?" Payson asked, trying to deflect her attention.

"Probably not," Kelly shrugged indifferently. "You guys seriously need to tighten security around here," she suggested. "Although I'd hate to deprive Kaylie here of my esteemed company."

"Of course, Kelly," Payson replied humourlessly. "You should go before Mrs Cruz spots you. She'll either kick you out or decide to give you a part in the show, and I don't think you really want either of those things to happen."

"I could always take one of Kaylie's outfits," Kelly mused. "I mean, we're practically the same size." She gave Kaylie another sugary smile, practically goading the other gymnast into an argument.

"Ladies, can I get a shot of you three together?" a young looking cameraman asked them. Ronnie had given exclusive 'backstage' access to **People Magazine** to cover the event and there were several photographers lingering around to take pictures of the group of gymnasts-cum-runway models, as they got ready.

The three turned to the cameraman, sending him their best smiles while he snapped a few shots of the three. "Kaylie, can I get you and Payson to change seats?" he asked. "I just want to try a different composition." Kaylie did so reluctantly, watching on as he began to direct Payson into specific positions and snapped ten times as many photos now that Payson was in the forefront of the picture.

"You have incredible bone structure," he complimented. "The way that the light hits you is perfect. Do you mind?" he asked, holding out a hand towards her.

"Um . . . no," Payson answered uncomfortably, clearly not wanting the photographer to enter her bubble but being too polite to stop him. He reached and flipped some of the hair over her shoulder and away from her face.

"Perfect," he grinned as he took another series of shots. "My name's Max, by the way," he said, looking up from behind the camera. "Max Spencer."

Payson shifted awkwardly under his direct gaze. "I'm – "

"Seeing Sasha Belov," Kelly answered for her. "He's the really tall, gorgeous one with the British accent. I hear he's a really good boxer." Payson smiled at her gratefully as the humiliated photographer took his leave.

"Did my mom find you?" Kaylie asked casually. "She wanted to change the order for the end."

Payson sighed in frustration. "Why?" she asked. "It's all fine the way it is with you and Austin finishing the show. You know I don't care about any of this stuff," she complained tiredly.

"You didn't seem to mind yesterday when you were at the photo shoot," Kaylie replied spitefully.

Payson frowned. "It wasn't about the photo shoot," she replied. "It was about spending time with Sasha." She smiled softly, her hand going to her ear even though she wasn't currently wearing Sasha's gift.

Kaylie scoffed in disgust.

"What?" Payson asked in confusion, not understanding at all where Kaylie's sudden disdain was coming from.

"It's just all I ever hear is 'Sasha this' and 'Sasha that'. It just gets kind of annoying after a while," Kaylie replied snarkily. "We get it Payson – you have a boyfriend. You don't have to keep showing it off."

"Um . . . okay," Payson replied cautiously as her frown deepened. "Look, I'm sorry if it seems that way, Kaylie, but I wasn't trying to show it off or anything like that. I just don't get to see him a lot," she explained with a bit of sadness in her voice, "so I want to make the most of it while he's here. I didn't mean to ignore you guys or make it seem like . . . anything."

"It's not like the rest of get to spend a lot of time with our boyfriends," Kaylie complained unsympathetically.

"That's not really the same, Kaylie," Payson argued back. "Sasha's in another country. I'm not just hiding my boyfriend because my parents wouldn't approve of him."

"Gee thanks, Payson," Kaylie muttered her retort. "Way to belittle my relationship.

"I suppose I'd better let you get back to your _boyfriend,_" she mouthed acidly as she slid out of the seat. "I'd hate to interrupt what little time you get to spend with a guy you hardly know." She stalked away before Payson had the chance to ask what the hell was going on.

"It's sad how some people get," Kelly consoled in her scheming way. "Obviously there are always going to be people that are jealous of your success, but it sucks when it's someone so close to you."

Payson groaned, rubbing her temples. "Kelly, I could really do without the mind games right now," she pleaded. "Just, please don't."

"Alright," Kelly shrugged, dropping the sugary tone from her voice. "Although I do think it sucks that Cruz is being such a bitch about you spending time with Sasha," she said with more genuine feeling. She liked Payson enough not to push her beyond her limits and to hide the truth when it was only going to hurt her. "So what if she doesn't get to spend as much time as she'd like with Tucker. At least she gets to see him on a daily basis."

"Thanks," Payson said tiredly. "You know I was serious about that warning earlier," she reminded her fellow gymnast.

"I know," Kelly shrugged, "but I reckon if I leave you that Max guy is gonna come back and try hitting on you again, and there's no way I'm letting some wannabe paparazzo hit on Sasha Belov's girlfriend."

"Of course," Payson nodded, a small smile pulling on her lips. "How could you ever live with yourself otherwise?" she added drolly.

"I knew you'd understand," Kelly replied.

* * *

Despite having already walked down the runway four times that evening, Payson was nervous about the last outfit. There wasn't anything particularly special about the outfit – it was just a cute vintage sailor dress with a narrow skirt and her personal favourite in the show – but Mrs Cruz had gone on and on about how it had to set the whole performance and the pressure was on for Payson to get this right. She was suddenly struck by the irrational fear that she was going to walk out there and fall flat on her face in front of a huge crowd of people, thus making a massive fool of herself and completely ruining the whole show.

This fear wasn't helped by the fact that her runway partner was nowhere to be seen and when she tried to bring it up with Mrs Cruz she had just smiled mysteriously and made some comment about patience being a virtue.

"Good luck, Keeler," Austin winked as he slipped past her. He and Kaylie were the second to last pairing to walk the runway – the lead in to the grand finale. Kaylie said nothing as she went past, clearly still cool after the not-quite-argument they had earlier.

"You're up, sweetie," Ronnie's assistant instructed. "Make it work," he said with a snap of his fingers.

She rolled her eyes before stepping out into the runway, putting on a bright smile for the photographers she already knew to be lurking around. She posed in front of the stage entrance with the charity banner behind her; ankles crossed and one hand on her hip while the other hung down on her side – just as she'd been instructed.

Relief washed over her as she felt an arm hooking around her own. She didn't need to look to know who was standing next to her, but how could she not, especially when they had him dark navy captain's attire complete with a white captain's hat and aviator sunglasses. She laughed brightly, shaking her head a little at how well the look seemed to suit him.

"Ma'am," Sasha said in that strong southern accent he was able to put on when it seemed to suit him and gestured to the runway before them.

"Of course, good sir," she replied promptly, smiling up at him as he led her along the stage pausing occasionally to allow the photographers to take pictures.

When they got to the end of the runway, Sasha took her by surprise and swooped her up into his arms. She laughed brightly as she locked her hands behind his neck, the position reminding her of the night when she kissed him right here in The Rock, even if it hadn't exactly gone ideally. She imagined that Sasha must have had similar thoughts as he lowered his head and kissed her sweetly on the lips, smiling warmly as he pulled away.

There was a loud cheer from the crowd as the music suddenly changed and an instrumental version of **Up Where We Belong** began to play. Sasha lifted an eyebrow at her as though to say 'shall we'. She threw he her head back and laughed, and stole the hat from his head, placing it firmly atop her own. He kissed her once more before carrying her off the stage and into the sunset in perfect Richard Gere fashion with the crowd cheering behind them.

~ to be continued ~

So this is only the beginning of the Kaylie drama. It's going to be a slow build up and things are eventually going to come to head in the future.

* * *

**Notes:**

The last part is a reference to **An Officer and a Gentleman,** mostly because I love the idea of Sasha in uniform. You can see Payson/Ayla's dress on the LJ version.

* * *

**Translations:**


	27. Transition

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Transition

_People Magazine – Out and About  
February 20, 2012_

**_Rockin' the Runways_**

**_People Magazine_**_ were given _exclusive access _this Valentine's Day to a special benefit at the Rocky Mountain Gymnasium to raise money and awareness for illiteracy. Pieces were donated to the show from several major fashion brands including **Versace**, **Dolce & Gabbana**, and **Jason Wu**. Along with Rock Rebels – Payson Keeler, Kaylie Cruz, Lauren Tanner, and Emily Kmetko – and American Men's Champion Austin Tucker, the show featured **People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive**, Sasha Belov._

_Sasha Belov and Payson Keeler stole the show in the finale. Payson wore a **Bettie Page**, signature captain's dress and Sasha was similarly attired in a blue navy uniform. After strolling down the runway together, this gorgeous couple emulated the famous scene from **An Officer and a Gentleman**__where Zack takes Paula in his arms and carries her out of the factory._

_Other notable appearances included rocker Damon Young who walked the runway with Emily Kmetko. This isn't the first time that Young has been spotted at a gymnastics event. As a Boulder native, Young says he's always been a big supporter of The Rock and was happy to lend his face to a good cause. We here at **People** don't believe him for a second – Young looked positively enamoured with Emily and the other Rock girls and we wouldn't be surprised to see a gymnastics romance in his future._

_Fellow American gymnast, Kelly Parker, also made an appearance at the benefit, although not on the runway. She was seen chatting with Payson and Sasha after the show and looking positively stunning in her **Calvin Klein** mini-dress. Many of The Rock's National Team colleagues showed up to support their fellow gymnasts and give back to this great cause._

**_For more pictures and a full page fashion shoot with Sasha Belov and Payson Keeler turn to pages 41-47._**

* * *

_Hello! – Entertainment News  
February 24_

**_Hello!_**_ caught up on the set of **Doctor Who** this week with Olympic gymnast, Sasha Belov. Sasha is guest staring in the Children in Need special of the show as his own great-grandson, Alexandru Belov the Third._

_The gymnast had to undergo a few key changes for the role. No he did not have to sport antennae or green skin for the role, just a few simple cosmetic changes. "They've lightened my hair and got me wearing dark blue contacts," Sasha said as he fingered his more platinum coloured blonde hair. "I think they're hinting at something."_

_And it does seem that way. Rumour has it that Sasha is being coached to speak with an_American_accent for his part in the show. At one point in the episode, The Doctor's companion asks whom Sasha married, to which The Doctor replies, "Mrs Belov? Oh, lovely woman. Shame about the back, but she came back better than ever." Not many viewers will understand the reference, but there are very few people who those words can be applied to._

_When asked about the accent Sasha said, "That's one thing I can neither confirm or deny. Ask me anything but that."_

_Which we did, asking Sasha how he spent Valentine's Day with his blonde-haired, blue-eyed girlfriend, American gymnast, Payson Keeler. "We spent a terribly unromantic morning fishing in Boulder," he told us with a warm smile. Fishing? We really hope that's code for whatever you really did, Sasha._

_The Children in Need **Doctor Who** special, _The Year 2121, _will be airing June 2nd this year – just 4 weeks out from the Olympic Games!_

* * *

_USA  
March 3, 2012_

**_American Cup Results_**

_Women's All Around:  
(1) Payson Keeler (USA)  
(2) Genji Cho (CHN)  
(3) Ivanka Karylenka (RUS)_

_(4) Kelly Parker (USA)  
(5) Qiushuang Huang (CHN)  
(6) Ariella Kaeslin (SUI)  
(7) Lauren Mitchel (AUS)  
(8) Jessica Lopez (VEN)_

_Men's All Around:  
(1) Austin Tucker (USA)  
(2) Mykola Kuksenkov (UKR)  
(3) Nicholas Russo (USA)_

_(4) Koji Uematsu (JPN)  
(5) Cyril Tommasone (FRA)  
(6) Philipp Boy (GER)  
(7) Samuel Hunter (GBR)  
(8) Daniel Purvis (GBR)_

_US gymnasts Payson Keeler and Austin Tucker take the All-Around titles in this year's American Cup held in Chicago, IL. Men's Artistic Gymnastics World Champion, Sasha Belov, was conspicuously absent from the competition and teammates Sam Hunter and Dan Purvis were instead featured in the competition, both competitors finishing in the top eight._

_British Gymnastics head coach, Martin Young, said that the decision had been made to enter the two younger boys before Sasha's return to gymnastics in mid-August. The American Cup, while being the first major event in the gymnastics calendar is a non-qualifying meet so attendance was not necessary for those athletes with Olympic aspirations. When asked for comment, Austin Tucker said, "I guess I'll just have to wait 'til the Olympics to claim back the title. I think we'll both be pulling out all the stops in London and it'll be something worth watching."_

_Payson Keeler was similarly optimistic about seeing Sasha and Austin finally go head-to-head in London. Payson took an early lead in her own competition, starting on floor with a moving routine to Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Floor exercise has gone from Payson's weakest event to one of her strongest since her incredible performance in Tokyo. Her Olympic prospects are looking very bright, as are those for American gymnastics._

* * *

_Vanity Fair - Feature  
April Issue_

**_Brothers in Arms_**

_We're just five months out from the Olympics and already these two men are household names. Between them Sasha Belov and Austin Tucker have amassed 11 gold, 6 silver, and 3 bronze Olympic medals and both are looking to add to that hardware as they move ever closer to London 2012. _

_Despite upcoming competitions, both take some time out of their busy schedules to sit down with correspondent, _**Collette Tonkins**.

* * *

_Sports Illustrated – Feature  
April Issue_

**_Heart of a Champion_**

_World Champion gymnast Payson Keeler sits comfortably at the very top of her chosen sport. In this exclusive **SI** interview she reveals all about gymnastics, her recovery after Nationals 2009, her best friends, and Sasha Belov . . ._

* * *

_SashaBelov . com  
__Post – March 8 2012_

**_Happy Birthday, Sasha Belov!_**

_Yes, our favourite British athlete turns 27 TODAY!_

_And how – you might ask – is the gorgeous gymnast celebrating the big two-seven? Well, in the past Sasha has been known for his lavish birthday affairs. His twenty-first had nearly two thousand guests, including among them Princes William and Harry._

_Our sources revealed that this year's birthday bash would be nothing of the sort. A very low-key affair with just one guest: Payson Keeler. __The couple will be celebrating with a romantic dinner at home - all prepared by Miss Keeler herself we're told - followed by drinks afterwards with Sasha's closest friends at Pepper Saint Ontiod._

* * *

_Grand Hotel Europe – St. Petersburg, Russia  
26 March 2012_

"Wow," Becca gaped as they stepped into stunning lobby of the Grand Hotel Europe.

"Wow indeed," Payson agreed quietly, her eyes flitting across the ornate, marble and gilt features, the sweeping staircase, the elegant furniture, and the sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

"Are we in the right place?" Kelly asked, her voice tinged with uncharacteristic awe. "I mean, I know we've stayed in some pretty nice places, but this is like a palace."

"No, the palace is just down the street," Payson informed them candidly.

"This is amazing," Lauren awed. "Who would have though Russia would be so _glamorous_?"

"Ladies," Marty said, calling their attention and gesturing for the six girls to gather around where he was already convening with their six male counterparts.

"Room assignments," he said as he held up three envelope packets. The guys had already collected theirs and so began to disperse as the girls arrived. The rooms were assigned in Junior-Senior pairs to keep them in check – although it wasn't clear who that initiative was aimed at. Payson already knew before Marty called her name that she would be rooming with Becca – it was a given that the two sisters would be roommates while Kelly and Lauren took in the two remaining Juniors, Sabrina Banks and Elista Vega.

"We've got podium training first thing tomorrow so I recommend you all getting a good night's sleep," Marty instructed. "You've got some free time today and if you're interested in doing some sight seeing we can organize a tour with the concierge. Otherwise, stay in the hotel – they've got excellent facilities and that should be enough to keep you occupied.

"Any questions?" he finished with a stern look that clearly indicated that the question was rhetorical.

"No, Marty," they chorused together. The girls dispersed in much the same way as the boys had earlier, making their way quickly to the elevator bay.

Payson handed her room envelope off to Becca and headed to the concierge desk to make inquiries. "Hi, I was wondering whether – "

"Payson," cut in Ellen Beals, an NGO official with a god complex, "if there's anything you need you should talk to Marty or myself before bothering the staff here," she said plainly, herding Payson away from the desk.

"Of course, Ms Beals," Payson replied to her with a strained smile. "I was just going to ask if there were any spa facilities nearby," she lied. "My necks been feeling a little tight after the flight."

"Well if it's still tight you can talk to one of the trainers tomorrow," Beals brushed off easily. "So if it's not urgent . . ." she said, trailing off meaningfully.

"Of course not," Payson agreed reluctantly, breathing a low sigh of regret. "I suppose I'll just go to my room and rest," she suggested painfully.

"I think that would be for the best, Payson," Beals agreed, narrowing her gaze. "We don't want _anything_ keeping you from competing at your best this weekend." With those parting words Beals went on her way, leaving Payson with the distinct impression that she had just been threatened.

Ellen Beals was more or less the bane of her existence. The woman had put road block after road block in her path since her attempt to return to gymnastics after her fall at Nationals 2009, and even now with a National title and two World titles to her name, Beals still refused to let up and accept that she could do this.

"Damn woman," Payson muttered darkly to herself. She made her way to the elevator bay knowing she wouldn't have the opportunity to talk with the concierge until Beals was well and truly gone from the lobby. In typical Ellen Beals fashion, the woman had gone and ruined any plans that Payson might have been formulating, including the possibility of a romantic dinner somewhere nearby with a view of –

"Wah!"

She yelped in in surprise as she felt a sudden, forceful tug on her hand. Before she could mount further protests, a familiar mouth completely covered her own and she had no further will to resist her captor. She relaxed into his sturdy frame, sliding her arms up around his shoulders and into the sandy blonde hair she loved to run her fingers through as his arm snaked around her, one of his hands settling in the small of her back and other creeping up her back and into her hair. She kissed him fiercely, having missed doing so sorely in the two weeks since she'd last seen him.

"Looking for me, _dragă_?" Sasha asked as he pulled away, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Yes," she replied. "Hi," she added and kissed him soundly once more for good measure.

"Hi," Sasha said, returning her greeting. "I love your hair like this," he said, running his hand through the golden curls of her ponytail, mussed by both her long journey and his fascination with them. "You look irresistible."

"That was the idea," she answered coyly and leaned further into him, gripping his shoulders. "I was about to go trick the concierge into giving me your room number when Ellen Beals got in the way," she told him with a pout. It was a rather inviting look on her, and he was unable to stop himself from kissing said pout away.

"I guess great minds think alike," he grinned at her. "I asked him to call me the moment you arrived." She murmured a low 'hmm' in reply as one of his hands slid slowly down from her shoulders, eventually finding refuge in the small of her back.

"So I take it you're free for the rest of the day?" he asked lowly, continuing his somewhat distracting ministrations and playing with her hair.

"More or less," she answered him. "Just so long as I don't intend on leaving the hotel."

He grinned at her suggestively. "I can think of plenty of ways we could pass the time right here in the hotel," he told her, pulling her body into his own. He could feel her warm curves pressed enticingly against him, every inch of her igniting him with desire.

"I'm sure," she agreed. She pulled him down towards her, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss that told him she knew just what they could be doing to pass their time right here in the hotel.

"But I need to change first," she said as she pulled away. The sudden change of mood left him a little dazed, and he always marvelled out how easily she could flick the switch from seduction to no-nonsense authority.

"I'm in 509," he told her once he came to his senses.

She just smiled as the elevator doors closed between them. God, he was a fool for this woman and he didn't even mind at all.

She appeared at his door no more than half an hour later in a pair of tight fitting jeans, a tank top, and a light cardigan. Her hair was out of its ponytail, but the delectable curls remained, enticing him to mess them up the only way he knew how.

"This is even nicer than my room," she gaped as she surveyed his elegant suite. He shrugged indifferently. The trip was all on Howard's firm and apparently they'd spared no expense on his accommodation.

"C'mere," he growled, pulling her through the threshold and slamming the door closed with his foot. In no time at all, he had her completely pressed against his body with her back against the door and one hand trapped between them. She glanced at him seductively through her lashes, practically daring him to make his next move. Her breath was shallow and her hand clenched into his shirt with tense anticipation.

He kissed her fiercely, the slow burn that started downstairs in the lobby egging him on now that he had her alone. She returned it with equal intensity, clinging to him with the desire to be even closer.

"Sasha," she murmured breathlessly as he began kissing down her neck towards he exposed collarbone. Her small hand slid under his shirt, clenching into the hard muscles of his chest and shoulder. It took every ounce of will power for him to end it so soon.

"I got us some movies," he whispered in her ear, letting his lips brush against her cheek. "Do you want to watch _The Philadelphia Story_ or _The Princess Bride, scumpa mea_?" he asked lowly.

She cocked her head to the side in confusion, the Sasha-induced fog in her brain not allowing her to comprehend the words that he was speaking or what they were supposed to mean in relation to their current activities. The question made no sense to her in that context, and it took her several moments to realize that was the problem.

He smirked as realization dawned on her features, his smile mischievous and boyish.

"I can't believe you did that," she said in mildly amused shock, attacking his shoulder with a weak punch.

"Just proving a point," he grinned at her, feigning innocence now.

"A point?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"That women are just as susceptible to their "baser instincts" as men," he told her, repeating her words from a conversation they'd been having last time they saw each other in person.

She gaped at him for a moment, disbelief evident on her features. "That was a philosophical debate, Sasha, not a challenge," she argued.

"I thought a practical example would be more convincing," he shrugged, already knowing that she wasn't truly angry with him, just slightly annoyed and put out by the way he abruptly ended things.

She shook her head. "For that we're watching _The Philadelphia Story_," she told him sternly, narrowing her eyes at his playful expression.

Sasha just grinned. "As you wish."

~ to be continued ~

An extra chapter this week, mostly because this one is, as the title suggests, just a transition chapter to get us in the right vicinity

* * *

**Notes:**

After the American Cup, the next big competition is the Pacific Rim Championships, which is a Junior/Senior competition - thus only Payson, Lauren, and Kelly. Lauren rounds off the team with her 'mad beaming skills'. I couldn't seem to find anything on where it was happening, so I made my decision based on how convenient it was for Sasha to attend it in various countries. Thus why it is being held in Russia's western most city, that is, the city furthest AWAY form the Pacific Ocean.

At some point I will probably write a deleted scene of Sasha and Payson's 'fishing date', but I'll let you know when I do.

* * *

**Translations:**

**_Scumpa mea_: **my darling


	28. One of those Days

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – One of those Days

_Yubileyny Sports Palace – Saint Petersburg  
28 March 2012_

"Payson! Focus!" Ellen Beals called across the practice area, making Payson step out of her last tumbling pass and forcing her to start her floor routine all over again from the beginning.

"I'd focus fine if you weren't interrupting me," Payson growled under her breath, moving back to her starting position in the centre of the mat.

"Are you okay, Payson?" Marty asked from nearby. "You look tense."

Payson bit her lips, sending Marty a pained smile. Kelly, who probably suspected much of the reason for her tension (she was uncannily observant at times), balked at the comment. "I'm fine," she tried to assure him.

"Are you sure?" Marty asked. "You know you need to be relaxed before a competition like this, Payson. No distractions."

_'No distractions,'_ she thought scathingly to herself, beginning her floor routine once more. It was a difficult concept to grasp when one of the biggest distractions she had right now was standing on the edge of the floor just waiting for her to choke. The other was sitting in his hotel room, probably thinking of new and exciting ways to torture her.

The worst part was that the latter was ultimately the cause of the former. If Sasha hadn't gotten her so on edge, then Ellen Beals would have had no effect on her. She was quite apt at ignoring the woman most of the time, but struggled to do so when her boyfriend was causing her unconscious grief.

It was ridiculous really. She knew he didn't mean to hurt her, but it stung to watch him pull back every time they pushed the physical boundaries of their relationship. It was the only time he ever made her feel like the age difference mattered – the only time he treated her like a little kid.

She practically sleepwalked through the rest of podium training, just going through the motions. She hardly noticed when Marty agreed to Ellen Beals' advice to nix her beam from the team competition in favour of one of the juniors, reducing her from four apparatuses to three. Her head just wasn't in it today.

"Do you want to talk about it, Pay?" Lauren asked, her voice full of genuine concern.

Payson sighed in aggravation, roughly pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from her face. Her first instinct was to say no and tell Lauren to simply mind her own business, but she thought better of it. After all, Lauren was one of the few people she knew who had a lot of experience in this area and she was being uncharacteristically sympathetic so she might as well take advantage of it.

"Yes, actually," she said, surprising Lauren as much as herself. "Do you wanna get a facemask or something?" she suggested. "It's on me."

Lauren blinked in disbelief. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Payson Keeler?" she asked incredulously.

"Just go with it before I change my mind," Payson suggested.

"Alright," Lauren said, holding up her hands in surrender. "I'll meet you there in an hour," she said. "Actually, make it half an hour," she said, deciding to be quick rather than risk another mind shift. They each went to their rooms, having a quick shower and changing into something more comfortable before heading to Grand Hotel Europe's onsite spa.

"Let's get a mani-pedi," Lauren suggested upon arrival, deciding to forego the facemask after giving it some thought. "We can get them painted to match our leos," she suggested with a laugh.

"Neutral colours only," Payson insisted, reminding Lauren of one of the fussier FIG regulations. "Although I don't think the Code of Points says anything against French tips," she added thoughtfully.

"I think you might be right about that," Lauren agreed with a grin as they walked in together. Lauren immediately began to order around the staff and demanding that they be seen to personally their most sought after manicurists while Payson attempted to pay. The manager refused to take any money from them, recognizing them as members of the US gymnastics team and declaring it her honour to be of service.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Lauren asked sincerely as they settled into their seats.

Payson frowned, wondering exactly how she was going to bring up the subject. She didn't know how to talk to people about these things – she'd never had to before – and she still wasn't sure that Lauren was the person she wanted to or should be talking to about these things.

"You and Carter," she began cautiously. "You guys . . . I mean, you lost your virginity to – "

"Oh my god! Did you and Sasha have sex?" Lauren interrupted in a loud stage whisper, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

"No," Payson insisted quickly, waving her hands around dramatically.

"But you're thinking about having sex?" Lauren guessed, still just as excited.

"Not really," Payson answered quietly, glancing away. "Well, I mean, not properly. I'm not ready to have sex and I know I'm not ready to have sex. But Sasha's – "

"Is he putting pressure on you?" Lauren asked, looking entirely affronted on Payson's behalf.

"No, he'd never do that," Payson assured her. "Sasha isn't like that at all.

"He'd never put pressure on me to have sex," she continued with a sigh, "and I guess that's kind of the problem."

"I don't understand."

Payson wasn't all that surprised. Of course Lauren wouldn't understand – she couldn't understand. Her experience with Carter was pretty much the exact opposite to Payson's problem. Carter had gotten her drunk and had sex with her because he was mad at his girlfriend for standing him up. Sasha, on the other hand, was being the perfect gentleman, and that was largely the source of the problem.

Payson groaned aloud knowing she was going to have to tell Lauren exactly what happened. And knowing Lauren, she wouldn't be allowed to skip a single detail.

_She'd relented on _The Princess Bride_ eventually, despite her attempts to withhold it as punishment. They were lounged together on Sasha's king-sized bed – him lying upon his stomach at one end while she sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed._

_"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."_

_Payson suppressed a giggle as Sasha spoke the words alongside the male character on screen, his features creasing into a deadly glare as though he was in fact Inigo Montoya ready to take his vengeance. _

_He turned on her and repeated the line, his voice accented in a way she imagined it would be if not for his mother. She did her best to look unamused as he stalked predatorily towards her._

_"I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," he repeated as he loomed above her and forced her to recline away from him. His hands attacked her sides, his fingers running along her ribs and finding all of her ticklish spots._

_"Sasha!" she cried out in protest between bursts of laughter. "Please, Sasha," she begged. She knew she never should have admitted to him that she was ticklish – it was just like him to go and use it against her. He continued despite her protests, repeating the infamous line all the while. She tried to shift away from by wiggling up the bed, but he just moved over her completely so that his whole body was caged over hers._

_But then his teasing ministrations stopped and the laughter died in her throat as she met his intense gaze. His eyes were locked on her in a way that made feel powerful and bold, and his expression made her whole body shiver with anticipation._

_"Sasha?" she questioned breathlessly, her voice sounding unnaturally seductive to her own ears._

_He murmured something indecipherable in Romanian as he buried one hand in the curls of her hair. "Beautiful," he said lowly in English and lowered his head to capture her lips, starting with slow, languid kisses that built to something more heated and passionate as they progressed._

_The feel of his lips against hers was thoroughly intoxicating. There was nothing else she could compare to it. Kissing Sasha took precedent above all other things in her mind, even over the fact that the intensity of their kisses was hardly giving either of them a chance to breathe._

_Each kiss led seamlessly to another, giving no indication of stopping. She felt, not for the first time, that they were building towards something concrete and she hoped that Sasha would let things run their course this time._

_She slid her hands around his waist, letting them slip under his shirt and slowly move up his back. She took his shirt with her hands as they slid past his ribs and over his shoulders. He pulled away just long enough to help her pull the shirt over his head, his hips straddling hers as he returned to her lips and their lower bodies pressed together intimately._

_"Please, Sasha," she begged, all but moaning as he attacked her neck with kisses. He kissed down the column of her neck and followed the décolletage of her shirt all the way around to the other side, covering her chest with kisses. The juncture where her neck met her shoulder was a particular fascination of his and she hoped she wouldn't have to remind him not to leave a mark that might be visible to the judges in two days time._

_Of course, she had her own little fascinations. This was only the second or third time they'd been in this position and already she was completely fascinated by the feel of his naked chest under her hands. She slid her hands from his back, slipping back down to his waist, loving the feel of his muscles bunching and chording under fingertips as they travelled the chiselled panes of his chest almost painfully slowly._

_She took the opportunity to explore him more extensively, first with her hands and then with her mouth as she trailed a line of feather light kisses across his breastbone. He groaned aloud as she finished with a hot, open-mouthed kiss, grazing her teeth against his skin and letting her tongue dart out to taste the fine cover of sweat forming on his skin as the room heated up around them._

_The next moment, Sasha dragged her back to his lips, kissing her even more fervently than before. It was almost possessive – as though he was staking his claim and proving beyond all reasonable doubt that she was his._

_"_Acest lucru este ceea ce faci să mine_, Payson," he whispered lowly in her ear as he shifted above her, letting her know the physical consequences of her actions. She gasped in delight, her hands clinging to his broad shoulders in the desperate need to keep him there. His words made her shudder with anticipation. She loved it when he spoke Romanian to her and the way he spoke her name in that moment – slightly accented as he made the switch from Romanian to English – turned her insides to mush._

_She more or less purred as he drew her earlobe into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth. She didn't think she would enjoy something like that, but Sasha seemed to know exactly how to please her and was unreservedly obliging. Her blunt nails dug into his shoulders as she pulled herself into him, trying to maintain as much contact as possible._

_One of his hands slid down her side. She could feel the heat from his fingers burning through her clothes to the flesh underneath. She vaguely wondered what she had done with her cardigan – had she taken it off earlier, before Sasha began his delectable torture, or had they removed it somewhere in the midst of this thing that was becoming increasingly difficult to define. It was a fleeting thought and she could hardly be expected to give it even that as all of Sasha's attention was focused upon her._

_His hands crept under the edge of her tank top, her body tingling from the feel of his hands against her bare skin. He took his time, just like she did earlier, fingers exploring the gymnastics honed muscles of her abdomen as her shirt lifted slowly, inch by inch, to accommodate his questing hands._

_They remained lip locked, his lips unyielding and insistent against her own. One of her hands moved from his shoulder and threaded into his sandy hair, using the extra leverage to kiss him deeper and dominate the embrace. Her other hand moved to his stubble roughened cheek, her knuckles brushing against the side of his face._

_All the while, his hand crept slowly up her body until suddenly coming to an abrupt halt as the tips of his fingers came in contact with the lacy fabric of her undergarments. His hands made a hasty retreat and suddenly he wasn't kissing her quite so fiercely, ebbing back to slow, soft kisses until he could breath easy again. He rolled off her, lounging back against the pillows and holding her against him._

_She sighed quietly to herself, hiding her frustration by burying into his side. It happened every time – Sasha would pull back just when things were getting _interesting_ – but every time it was just a little bit further. Just enough to make her long for whatever came next and whatever it was he was unwilling to give her._

"Wow," Lauren gaped at the end of the story. "Who would have thought Payson 'no sex' Keeler would have a steamy story like that to tell?" she laughed, making Payson grimace painfully. "What did you do after that?" she asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Payson replied, frustration and dejection mixed in her tone. "We watched the end of the movie. We talked for a bit after and then I had to go meet you guys for dinner."

"Wow," Lauren said again. "Okay, I want to start by saying that Sasha deserves some sort of commendation for show _that much_ restraint when you guys are . . . you know," she said admiringly.

"Not that I don't get where you're coming from, Pay," she added hastily, not wanting Payson to think she was trivializing things. "I mean, while I totally respect what a gentleman Sasha's being right now, he's not going about it the right way and he's acting like you're some fragile wallflower that needs to be protected from the big bad wolf."

"Exactly," Payson groaned, grateful for the support and proof that she wasn't just being stupid over nothing. "I know he's older, but I'm eighteen. I might not have that much experience, but I'm not so naïve that I don't know what he's doing and I'm not incapable of making any sort of decision for myself," she said sternly.

"So what do you think I should do?" she asked cautiously.

"Jump him," Lauren suggested flippantly, holding back a snigger when Payson looked quite horrified by the suggestion.

"Lauren, maybe that's something you would do, but I can't – "

"Excuse me," Lauren interrupted. "I would totally never just jump a guy."

Payson looked sceptical. "Didn't you show up at The Pizza Shack in your underwear?" she reminded Lauren with her disapproving 'Captain Keeler' look.

"That was one time," Lauren protested. "I would never do that _now_.

"Now do you want my advice or not, Keeler?" she asked pointedly. Payson nodded for her to continue. "It's quite simple really. You need to talk to Sasha, tell him what you want and let him know you're not happy," she instructed in a reasonable tone.

"Just like that?" Payson asked, wondering why she hadn't realized on her own that the solution could be that simple.

"Just like that," Lauren affirmed with a quick nod.

"Just try not to be too hard on him," she added gently. "Obviously he's being a jerk and he can't just make a decision about your relationship without talking to you, but in his own misguided way, he's actually being quite sweet.

"And if that doesn't work," she finished, pausing for effect, "_then_ you can jump him."

* * *

_Room 509 – The Grand Hotel Europe_

Payson took a deep breath, trying to build up her courage as she waited outside Sasha's suite. Her hand was poised ready to knock but it took her a few more moments and deep breaths before she could eventually connect with the solid oak door.

She heard Sasha call something from inside before he came to open the door. "Payson," he said, blinking in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you," he said as he kissed her hello.

"Can I come in?" she asked him with a nervous smile. His eyes swept over her figure and she suddenly wished she'd chosen something more appealing – her sheep covered cotton pyjamas, while comfortable and practical, seemed to defeat the point she wanted to make by coming here tonight.

"Of course, _dragă_," he answered reassuringly and opened the door wider to let her through. He led her towards the couch, sensing that there was something wrong. He held her hand reassuringly but made no attempt to force the conversation, waiting patiently while she organized her thoughts and decided the best way to approach the subject.

"There's something I need to say," she said finally, not quite meeting his gaze. "Just please don't say anything until I'm done. I'm not sure I can finish if you do and I really need to say this."

She breathed deeply and continued. "I'm not a child," she told him. "I'm eighteen and just because we have different levels of experience doesn't mean I'm so naïve that I don't know what's happening.

"You don't need to protect me, Sasha," she said firmly. "And I know you're older and I know that you've had plenty of girlfriends in the past, but I never thought any of that mattered. Not until you started pulling away from me whenever it looked like things were getting serious.

"You've always treated us as equals, Sasha," she said sadly. "You've never made me feel like I was too young for you or like I didn't know what I was doing in this. So why is this different?"

"I . . . it shouldn't be," he conceded sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Pay. I just . . . what you said about experience, Payson – I don't want you jumping into something you're not ready for just because I pressured you into it."

She gave him a stern look, almost laughing as he cowered away slightly. "Do I look like the kind of girl that's going to be pressured into sex when she's not ready for it?" she asked him incredulously. "I'm not saying that the pressures not there, but I know I'm not ready for it and I know you're not going to push me.

"If things get to that point and you do something that I don't want, I'm going to tell you," she said plainly. "You'll know when you've pushed too far, Sasha. I'll make sure of it," she threatened him teasingly. "You don't need to protect me. Not from you."

"I'm not so sure," he protested painfully, stroking her hand. "Sometimes when I see you . . ."

"Are you saying you can't control yourself around me?" she asked him with a coquettish grin.

"I'm saying sometimes you test my will, Payson," he replied pulling her to him. "And I do my best not to test my powers of restraint when I can't be certain of the outcome."

She shook her head at him and leaned into his side, drawing delicate circles into his shirt fabric. "You've been doing gymnastics for over twenty years, Sasha," she said admonishingly. "I'd think by now you'd be an expert when it comes to denying your wants and needs."

He laughed incredulously, unsure if the things he had gone without for gymnastics were really of the same caliber. "Are you comparing yourself to Romanian doughnuts and mazurka?" he asked her, naming the two most tempting things he had to go without for the last twenty years.

"Cookie dough ice cream," she replied automatically. "I haven't had that since I was eight."

"I think I want you more than I want cookie dough ice cream," he murmured seductively, "or doughnuts or mazurka. I'm not sure I can resist you, Payson Keeler."

"Then I'll just have to do all the resisting for us," she answered firmly. "I know I'm not ready for sex," she reiterated, "but there are a lot of steps between that and kissing with your shirt off. You don't need to stop things from progressing – not unless I tell you to."

"I'm sorry, Payson," he said softly looking genuinely apologetic.

"I know," she smiled at him. "You were actually being kind of sweet in your own stubbornly misguided way," she added affectionately, repeating Lauren's words.

"Just promise me, no more unilateral decision making," she demanded sternly.

"I promise, " he said, kissing her chastely to seal the promise. "So what time's room check?" he asked suggestively, pulling her into his lap.

She bit her lip flirtatiously. "I snuck out," she admitted with a dangerous look in her eye.

"And your roommate?" he asked her, seeming to catch her drift as she shifted over him.

"Won't tell a soul," she assured him with a grin. "So can I stay?"

He smiled, pulling her down into a searing kiss before giving one word in answer.

"Forever."

~ to be continued ~

I'm kind of two minds about this chapter. I feel like it was something that needed to be written, but at the same time I'm not sure if I did it right. All feedback would be much appreciated for this chapter, even if you hated it - in that case, ideas for improvement would be even more appreciable.

* * *

**Notes:**

There are TWO bonus chapters on the LJ version associated with the previous chapter. You should totally check them out because they're kinda adorable.

* * *

**Translations:**

**_Acest lucru este ceea ce faci să mine_**: This is what you do to me


	29. Getting Off on the Right Foot

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Getting Off on the Right Foot

_Yubileyny Sports Palace – Saint Petersburg  
29 March 2012_

Payson felt supremely confident as they neared the end of the first day of competition. With just one rotation to go she was a comfortable two tenths ahead of Genji Cho. She had qualified first in both vault and floor giving her the advantage going into event finals. She was currently in third for beam, but she didn't expect to make the final, as Lauren and Kelly were yet to compete on the apparatus.

"Better," Ellen Beals pronounced snarkliy as Payson left the podium. "Just keep your head in the game and you might have this," she suggested sarcastically, as though there was nothing she wanted to see more than Payson losing it in the final rotation.

Payson moved away, having no time for whatever mind games Beals was trying to play. She watched as Kelly and Lauren each performed a strong beam routine, qualifying second and third behind Genji Cho and knocking Payson out of the finals.

They moved across the floor to the uneven bars, waiting while the Australian athletes ahead of them began their rotation.

"Are you okay, Payson?" Marty checked, his forehead creased with concern. "That was a solid routine, Payson, and you shouldn't let Beals get to you."

"I know, Marty," she said, forcing a smile. Ellen Beals was barely a blip on her radar. It was unfortunate that she had brought the woman's attention upon herself by messing up at practice, but she wouldn't let Beals ruin this for her.

Marty nodded but didn't look convinced. "You're looking more yourself today," he noted. "If you want to talk about anything . . ." he said trailing off uncomfortably.

"See, this is why we have a no-dating rule at The Rock," he hissed in frustration. "I can't talk about these things with you girls."

Payson almost laughed at his awkwardness. "It's fine, Marty," she told him sympathetically. "You don't have to worry about any more relationship drama, at least not from me."

"Okay then," he said and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I shouldn't have let it affect me," she said apologetically. "It won't happen again," she assured him feeling as though she should say more. She had put Marty in an awkward position that wouldn't have happened if she'd just stuck to the rules – even her own rules – and kept the relationship under wraps. His number one priority was her gymnastics and knowing about the relationship burdened him with a duty to intervene where things affected her gymnastics like they had at podium training.

He read the guilt in her expression and put a hand on her shoulder, accepting both her promise and apology. "If you feel up to it, we can put your beam back in rotation for tomorrow," he suggested, confident that she'd learnt her lesson. She'd let her personal life impair her professional life, but he knew Payson was smart enough not to repeat the mistake.

"It wouldn't be fair on Elista," she said, refusing the offer. "She's been performing really well today, and her degree of difficulty is higher."

"Not if you do the Arabian dismount," he pointed out. "But I'd rather you didn't," he added.

"It's probably best not to make the change," he conceded reluctantly. "I'd never get it past Beals anyway."

* * *

"And now the US are stepping up to their final rotation," Tim Dagget noted from the commentary box. "The team have put on a very strong performance today, in both men's and women's."

"Indeed," Al Trautwig agreed. "We already saw Austin Tucker take the All-Around gold today with an impressive margin, and I think we're about to see Payson Keeler do the same."

"The Chinese team have made some unfortunate errors today," Elfi Schlegal put in. "Their last rotation is floor, their weakest event, while the US team steps up to their strength – the uneven bars."

"It's certainly Payson Keeler's strength," Tim said. "We've seen a lot more artistic elements in her other routines today, not just floor, and I hope we get to see the same on the uneven bars."

"Speaking of what we've seen today," Elfi segued, transitioning from legitimate sports commentator to tawdry tabloid journalist. "Sasha Belov, Olympic and World Champion gymnast, is in the crowds today with Payson's 'Rock' teammates Austin Tucker and Nick Russo."

"I bet that's an uncomfortable arrangement," Al added salaciously, almost as bad as Elfi when it came to gossip and drama. "After all, Russo and Payson have been linked together in the past and Sasha Belov is her current man of the hour."

"More than 'man of the hour', I'd say," Elfi disagreed. "From what I've seen the two are looking very close. I wouldn't be surprised if we see wedding bells in their future," she gushed.

"Elista Vega, first up for the US team, gives a strong performance on this event despite it being her weakest," Tim commented. "It won't be enough to secure an all-around medal, but still a strong performance from her today."

"Next up we have Rebecca Keeler," Elfi said. "This is Payson's little sister, currently ranked fourth equal on the Junior National team. Rebecca has already qualified for beam."

"Good straddle jump to high bar," Tim continued, "and into a handstand. Excellent balance here."

"Oh," Al grimaced, momentarily distracted from the US team, "Kasumi Minihara from the Japanese team barely staying on her feet after a Yurchenko double. That hop is going to cost her the Junior All-Around, giving China's Xiefa Chang the opening she was looking for."

"And now, Sabrina Banks, currently in second after Kasumi's vault," Elfi said, bringing them back. "If she gives a solid performance here on bars, she'll have secured the silver, maybe even gold."

"Sabrina Banks is one of the fastest rising juniors in gymnastics," Al pronounced. "Look at that," he said as she performed a difficult release move he couldn't name. "She's a real performer."

"And she sticks the dismount," Tim congratulates. "That will definitely get her the silver, if not the gold. Xiefa Chang is just beginning her floor routine and look at that illusion – just incredible to watch."

"I think she could have gotten a bit more height on that last tumbling pass," Elfi criticised, "especially a girl her size. I expected a lot more power than we're seeing from the Chinese team this year."

"But still, a 15.6 or higher will secure her the All-Around title," Al said disappointedly.

"Lauren Tanner is not normally a gymnast that we associate with the uneven bars," Elfi continued, returning once again to the American team. "This is where we usually see fellow 'Rock' teammate Emily Kmetko shine. But she does incredible, scoring 15.65 on this event," she finished with a cheer.

"Kelly Parker, on the other hand," Al segueyed, "is a gymnast we definitely associate with the bars. This girl really flies through the air. She's like the Michael Jordan of gymnastics."

"She gets great height on that salto," Tim agreed. "Kelly Parker is the sort of gymnast that was built for the uneven bars – delicate frame, incredible flexibility, and with the power to back it up."

"Kelly's is definitely one of the best uneven bars we've seen here today," Elfi continued. "And we'll see her finish it off with a double salto in piked position. Perfect."

"The judges agree," Al commented a few moments later. "A 16.1. Very impressive."

"And now we have Payson Keeler," Tim said, watching as Payson took to the podium. "We've already seen three incredible performances from Payson today, but this is the event where she really blasts away the competition.

"This isn't the most difficult mount we've seen in the competition," he continued as Payson mounted with a front salto over the low bar, "but look at the clean lines and watch her swing forward into a handstand on the low bar. I dare anyone to find fault in that transition."

"Flawless," Elfi agreed. "And a perfect pirouette on one hand – a skill we rarely see performed and certainly not with such finesse.

"And – woah!" Al gaped, cutting himself off mid-speech. "What exactly do you call that move, Elfi?"

"A Marinich," Elfi replied. "That's an F-skill and just . . . wow. The counter-salto . . . it's a move I love seeing performed because you never see it coming. It surprises you in the best way."

"You can say that again," Al agreed.

"And just the dismount," Tim announced. "See her hips circle the bar – absolutely artful. And now a salto stretched dismount with a full twist – excellent. I think this is the closest to perfect we've ever seen in any gymnast. A flawless routine from Payson Keeler and more than enough to secure the All-Around gold in the first day of competition."

* * *

"You can stand here," MJ offered derisively, allowing him to stand in the wings as a press conference was held outside of the event.

"Thanks," Sasha replied sarcastically and watched as Austin and Payson fielded questions from the pool of sports journalists.

"It's unfortunate that you didn't tell me of your plans," MJ said formally, making notes on her smartphone. "I could have organized some press.

"Although this works too," she noted with a smirk. " _'Sasha Belov takes time out of his busy training schedule to see girlfriend compete'_," she suggested with a snort of amusement, already predicting tonight's headlines. "I'll suggest that one to Rena," she added. "She'll give it the right spin."

He rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore her.

"You should take her out to dinner tonight. At _Gimnazya_," she said without looking up from her phone.

"Thanks for the suggestion," Sasha grimaced.

"It wasn't a suggestion," MJ replied dangerously. "If you're going to insist upon dating my client you'll do what I tell you, Sasha. You're taking her out to dinner."

He scoffed mildly. "And how do you expect to get that past Marty and Ellen Beals?" he asked her. "I'm sure you're not Ms Beals' favourite person."

"I'll leave that for you to deal with," MJ shrugged, sending him a saccharine sweet smile.

He shook his head and said nothing more. MJ Martin was the most controlling person on the planet, and this sort of thing really didn't surprise him. That being said, it still annoyed him to no end to have MJ interfering in his relationship with Payson and telling him when and where he was supposed to go out.

Payson stepped quickly down the stairs as the press conference came to an end, looking both drained and relieved from the ordeal. He opened his arms to her, letting her fall tiredly into his embrace.

"You did good, _dragă_," he told her affectionately, kissing the top of her head. She groaned a non-committal response as she settled into his arms.

"Anyway," MJ cut in, ruining the moment, "I've organized a table at _Gimnazya_ so you two can have a celebratory dinner. I've sent over something for you to wear. Booking's at six."

"Um . . . thanks," Payson grimaced, looking as pained by the interference as Sasha had earlier. MJ hardly noticed, already bustling over to Austin to give him whatever instructions she thought necessary.

"You'll love _Gimnazya_," Sasha assured her. "It's like 18th Century Versailles," he said, appealing to her inner history buff. "It used to be a girls school. Thus the name – gymnasium."

She laughed, relaxing into his presence. "I've had nothing but gymnastics for eight hours and she wants us to go to a restaurant called 'gymnasium'?" she asked incredulously.

"I think we can agree on the irony there," he said with a grin.

"Come on, we should get back to the hotel," she sighed reluctantly. He nodded, leading her through the crowd of press to a car waiting outside. When they got back to the hotel she went straight to the concierge's desk to ask if MJ's clothing choices had arrived.

"Would you like yours sent up, _aussi, Monsieur _Belov_?"_ he asked after confirming that the items had been sent to Payson's room

"What?"

Payson laughed at his horrified expression even as she gently stroked his forearm to placate him.

"I take back every bad thing I've ever said against Howard," he said doggedly as they left the lobby and headed to the elevator alcove. "That woman is ten times more controlling."

"My poor baby," Payson cooed, obviously not all that sympathetic as she had to deal with MJ on a regular basis. The lift arrived and they stepped inside. "I'm sure you'll look _spiffy_ in whatever you wear."

"You cheeky thing," he murmured half-affectionately, smiling gently. The elevator dinged as it stopped at her floor. "I'll see you tonight," he said simply, bringing her hand to his lips before letting her go. The sweetness of the gesture left her a little dazed and it took her a moment to realize where she was.

"Payson, you have to see what MJ sent you," Becca greeted eagerly as Payson arrived at their room. It wasn't hard to miss – displayed upon a designer's mannequin in the centre of the room. The dress was strapless, a soft peach tulle or chiffon fabric and silk, gathering at the knees and draping to the floor.

"Wow," Payson gaped.

"It's Monique Lhuillier," Lauren announced like only Lauren could. Payson hadn't even noticed her and Kelly in the room, gaping at the dress with similar expressions to her own.

"It's gorgeous," Payson awed, a cautious hand reaching out to touch the fabric but second guessing herself at the last minute and pulling away. "I feel as though it's too nice to wear," she admitted nervously.

"Well, somebody has to wear it," Kelly butted in, "and if it's not going to be you then I'd be happy to go out to dinner with Sasha on your behalf." Payson gave her a dry look that clearly said that wasn't an option.

"I'm surprised MJ didn't send over a gaggle of hairdressers and make up artists to go with it," Payson mused to herself, genuinely surprised that MJ had stopped at merely dressing her and Sasha for the evening. She made the mistake of glancing up at Kelly and Lauren, seeing her two teammates share sinister looks.

"Oh no," she said, catching their intentions. "You really don't have to," she protested.

"We're not doing it for you, Pay," Lauren insisted. "We're doing it for the dress."

Kelly nodded her agreement. "And for Sasha," she added. "We can't let you go on a date with Sasha Belov in a dress like that just looking like you."

Becca laughed at their scary insistence. "It's too late," she laughed. "Sasha already knows what she looks like." For some reason this made Payson flush.

Nearly an hour later Kelly and Lauren's work was done. Kelly had taken responsibility for her hair, doing it up in a loose French twist with soft curls around her face. Lauren had done her make up, using spring colours that complimented her dress, paying extra attention to her eyes. Neither of them seemed to realize how bizarre it was for the two of them to be cooperating so effectively.

"Now put on the dress," Lauren commanded. "We want to see how it looks altogether."

She did as she was told, emerging just as there was a knock on the door. Lauren and Kelly decided for some reason that this meant they had to go hide out of sight and Becca was too busy laughing at them to do much else, thus leaving Payson to answer the door herself.

"You look beautiful, _dragă_," Sasha greeted smoothly as she opened the door. He took a moment to appraise her before handing over the bouquet of gerberas he had hidden behind his back.

She smiled at his good memory and offered her cheek – Lauren would kill her for messing up her lipstick after the blonde had spent nearly ten minutes fixing her apparently crooked cupid's bow. "You're even earlier than usual," she noted as he lingered at her cheek. He wasn't due for another twenty minutes, even taking into account that he was usually five to ten minutes early for everything.

"I have a very good reason for that," Sasha assured her with a charming smile. He pulled away and glanced around her. "Becca, would you like to come to dinner with us?"

"Can I?" Becca asked eagerly, glancing at her sister hopefully.

Payson nodded, pleased with the invitation. "We are supposed to be celebrating, so you should be there too, Becca," she smiled.

"Oh, what am I going to wear?" Becca asked aloud as she disappeared from view to riffle through her things.

"I would have given more warning, but I didn't think of it until I was getting ready," Sasha shrugged apologetically, looking back down at Payson.

"It's the thought that counts," she beamed at him. "You're really racking up the boyfriend points lately," she said, sniffing appreciatively at her flowers.

"I'm hoping to cash them in," he replied with a grin.

"For what?"

"Paintball gun," he teased her. She laughed and kissed him swiftly on the cheek, leaving a small smudge of pink lipgloss.

"We'll meet you down in the lobby in twenty minutes," she told him and ushered him out of the room.

"Will this do?" Becca asked, holding up her dress for inspection. It was a knee-length dress with a solid plain black top and a silver patterned skirt. Payson nodded, pleased that her mother had the forethought to pack a couple of nice dresses in Becca's luggage, just in case.

"That was so . . . _nice_," Kelly gaped seeming to struggle to come to terms with what she'd just seen.

"Sasha is nice," Payson shrugged. "I almost feel as though I should be offended by how surprised you are by it."

"No, I just . . ." Kelly said, trying to explain why it shocked her so much. "He's Sasha Belov. He doesn't need to be nice."

"But he is," Payson shrugged again, looking distractedly through her things. "I don't think I have any shoes to go with this dress," she murmured aloud.

"MJ already thought of that," Kelly replied, pointing to a couple of boxes sitting on a chair by the door. "I think she's setting up a new endorsement in a somewhat passive-aggressive _'Dear Armani, doesn't Payson look nice in your things_' sort of way."

"And the dress?" Payson had to ask.

"It's couture," Kelly shrugged. "If Armani are going to see you as a viable investment they need to see that you can wear more than just your club casual and party dresses.

"I love those shoes," Kelly sighed as Payson pulled on the peach/pink sandals.

"Me too," Payson sighed. "I was going to buy them in the blue, but even with all the endorsement money, I can't seem to justify spending that much on a pair of shoes until I know where I'm going to wear them."

"You're so weird sometimes, Keeler."

"Done," Lauren cheered, returning to the room with Becca in tow, her hair in a classic beehive style with a silver headband to match the dress.

"It looks great, Becca," Payson grinned. "Thanks, Lauren."

"No problem," Lauren shrugged. "We better go.

"Enjoy your date, Payson," she said as she left with a teasing smirk.

Payson smiled despite Lauren's teasing. "I will."

* * *

_Gimnazya – Saint Petersburg_

"I can't believe you're wearing those," Payson flushed, shaking her head as she spotted the novelty cufflinks she had bought him for his birthday. The bronze daleks he now wore with his new season Armani suit (which made Kelly's suspicions all the more convincing) were meant to be a gag gift – not to be taken seriously, and certainly not to be worn out in public.

"I wore them to dinner, didn't I?" he shrugged. "Table for three under Keeler," he said to the maître d.

"Yes, but I thought you were just humouring me then," Payson almost whined, turning redder when Becca laughed in amusement.

Sasha smiled at her embarrassment, giving her a quick, placating kiss on the lips. "I wasn't humouring you when I told you I love them, _dragă_," he told her. The maître d gestured for them to follow, and Sasha took her hand as they weaved through the tables.

"Is Gordon Straus in?" he asked once they reached their table, taking their seats.

"He is, _Gospodin_ Belov," the maître d replied.

"Could you ask him to come see us at the table?" Sasha asked. "Tell him that an important guest wishes to speak with him." The maître d nodded and went on his way.

"You'll really like this place," he said to Becca with a warm smile, making sure she felt included. "It's the best sushi in Saint Petersburg."

"I didn't know that Russians were known for their sushi," Payson mused as she and Becca perused their menus.

"What's 'herring under a fur coat'?" Becca asked, her expression a mixture of intrigue and distaste.

"It's not as bad as it sounds, but I don't think you'll like it," Sasha assured her, mostly because the dish involved more mayonnaise than Becca had probably eaten in her life. She seemed to be leaning towards the more traditional items on the menu so he suggested she might enjoy the borsch.

"Sasha Belov!" an unfamiliar voice called as a finely dressed man approached their table. He had a strong cockney accent, which contrasted with many of the softer European accents around them, and had dark hair and eyes. Sasha stood to greet him with a warm smile.

"They told me we'd be 'osting a famous gymnast," the man continued, "they di'nt tell me 'e was an old friend."

The two embraced in a manly hug as Sasha corrected his assumption. "It's not me they're talking about," he said, directing the man to the table. "Gordon, I'd like to introduce you Payson and Rebecca Keeler of the USA gymnastics team."

Gordon nodded to them formally, offering his hand to the two girls. He spoke particularly, his accent becoming less stark. "Ladies, let me start by sayin' that it is an honour to 'ave your patronage at my restaurant. Your meals and drinks are on the house and my staff and I will do our best to meet your every whim.

"That said," he went on, losing his formality and puling up a chair to their table. "What you doin' 'ere with this old boy?" he asked with a thumb in Sasha's direction.

Becca bit back a laugh as Payson gave a dramatic sigh. "You have to be the fourth or fifth person to ask me that," she laughed.

Gordon looked confused for a moment, but it quickly dawned on him. He had thought that this was Sasha hanging out with a fellow gymnast for publicity, he hadn't realized – "So yer' _that_ Payson."

"I guess I am," she laughingly shrugged.

"Forget 'bout these," he said, gathering their menus. "I'll 'ave the chef cook ya somthin' spesh. There anythin' you girls don' eat?"

They both looked embarrassed for their dietary requirements and Sasha answered for them. "Payson and Becca are competing tomorrow, so nothing too heavy, Gord'," he warned. "And no mushrooms or olives," he added, guessing that Becca probably followed her sister in this respect.

"Nothing too spicy, please," Becca added. She didn't think that Russia was known for having spicy food, but the menu was eclectic, displaying delicacies from all over the world.

"Right-o," Gordon nodded. "Be back lat'a ta see how yer doin'," he promised as he disappeared to the kitchen.

"Look, they have a band," Becca exclaimed, pointing to the jazz quartet as patrons took to the floor. "Are you guys going to dance?" she asked the couple eagerly.

"That sounds like a good idea," Sasha said as he stood. He held out a hand and smiled, "Payson?"

She looked slightly reluctant, biting her lip as she considered the proffered hand before her. "Will you be okay, Becca?" she asked carefully.

"Of course," Becca agreed. She winked cheekily at Sasha, making it clear that she'd brought up the subject solely for his benefit. Sasha nodded his thanks, returning the wink while Payson wasn't looking.

Payson nodded slowly and placed her hand atop his palm. He smiled affectionately, bringing the same hand to his lips as she stood up and guiding her through the tables to the edge of the dance floor.

The first song was slow, and they stood close together, her cheek against his chest and their hands entwined. "When are you going to accept that I'm really not very good at this?" she bemoaned as they swayed back and forth, her eyes trained on their joined hands.

"When are you going to accept that I think you're perfect, Pay?" he returned. He dropped her hand and turned her chin up to face him. "Even when it comes to dancing," he added sincerely, kissing her briefly on the lips.

"I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree," she willingly conceded, sliding her free hand up his chest. She settled it on his cheek, pressing lightly to indicate what she wanted from him. He obliging lowered his head, kissing her gently until the music changed – turning to something faster with a strong beat – and she tried to escape before she embarrassed herself.

He supposed this was something she was always going to be self-conscious about – dancing in public – but he refused to let her stand on the side lines.

"Dance with me,_ dragă_," he pleaded, catching her hand before she left. "Please?"

"We're going to look like a pair of perfect idiots," she protested, but she was already giving in to his pleading expression and the way he gently tugged her back towards him.

"I don't mind," he assured her, pulling her close and then quickly spinning her away as the music dictated. She laughed brightly as he spun her back in, catching her in his arms, and he knew he had her.

~ to be continued ~

~ to be continued ~

Does anyone else get a semi-apocalyptic feeling at Lauren and Kelly co-operating? Just me then. You can tell I'm building up to something bad, can't you? That's why you've got a chapter of almost pure fluff and Sasha being ridiculously sweet.

Thanks for everyone's assurance re: last chapter. Was feeling rather insecure about that one, so it was all appreciated.

* * *

**Notes:**

For those that might be confused, I'm assuming that the two per country rule applies at the Pacific Rims competition. That means, even if Payson did qualify, because Lauren and Kelly qualified higher, only those two would go to event finals, not all three of them.

The following skills are featured in this chapter:  
1.206 Free straddle jump over LB to HB (B)  
1.407 Salto fwd tucked over LB to hang on HB without touching LB (D)  
3.604 Facing outward on HB - swing fwd and counter salto fwd with legs straddled to catch HB in reverse grip (F) (Marinich)  
6.506 Swing fwd to double salto bwd stretched with 1/1 twist (360°) in first or second salto (E)

For pictures of the outfits go see the LJ version.

* * *

**Translations:**

French**_  
aussi_**: also

Russian (phonetic)  
_**Gospodin**_: Mister


	30. Some Unprecedented Results

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Some Unprecedented Results

_Yubileyny Sports Palace – Saint Petersburg  
30 March 2012_

Their first rotation was vault and the team was looking strong. The three seniors were stacked in this event, their vaults significantly more difficult and powerful than their junior counterparts. It meant starting on a strong note – all three seniors would guarantee scores in the high fifteens and sixteens, and Sabrina would give a strong score worthy of the silver All-Around medal she won just yesterday.

"Go, Sabrina!" they cheered as the tiny, half-Cuban girl saluted the judges. The junior National champion nodded, centring herself before taking off down the runway. She bounced off the springboard, landing hands first on vault and propelling into a front tucked salto with one and a half twists. She landed firmly, raising her arms and giving the judges little room for deduction.

Lauren was up second with the next vault up from Sabrina's. It was a similar combination – forward handspring onto the vault and then into a salto but in the piked position, raising the degree of difficulty from 5.7 to 5.9. She landed it cleanly, but her extensions weren't all there in the salto, leading to a small deduction.

Kelly's vault was higher again, vault being one of her strongest events. She had one of the most difficult vaults in National Team, only surpassed by Payson's Tsukahara. She saluted the judges and waited a moment for the signal. Once given, she approached the vault at speed, diving into a round-off flick-flack, hitting the vault hands first and then into the stretch backwards salto with two and a half twists. It was a solid vault worthy of at least a 16.3 if not a 16.4.

Payson was last, finishing off the group with a Tsukahara two and a half, which was relatively new compared to some of the other vaults. As she waited for the signal to start, she went through the vault in her mind – a short run, then bouncing off the springboard into a handspring with a half turn onto the vault, and then a straight salto with two and a half twists, landing 1080 degrees from where she started. The flag was raised and she took off down the runway, performing the vault exactly how she had in her mind and landing securely on her feet on the other side with her hands raised in salute.

There was a cheer from the crowd as their combined scores were posted.

* * *

"64.277," Al Taurtwig cheered from the commentary box. "A very strong start for the United States."

"If you've just joined," Elfi Schlegal went on, "we're in the first rotation of the Team finals at the Pacific Rim Championship. We've just seen four very strong vaults from the United States team – two incredible handspring vaults from Sabrina Banks and Lauren Tanner, an Anamar from Kelly Parker and a Tsukahara with two and half rotations from Payson Keeler."

"It looks like the US are really throwing down the gauntlet," Al said proudly.

"And they're not the only ones," Tim Dagget pointed. "Russia, Japan, and China have all given a strong start on their first rotation. The Chinese team are looking much stronger than they did yesterday and I think it's too soon to pick a winner."

"But if you had to pick," Elfi wheedled playfully.

"Well, if I had to pick, you know my money's on the US," he admitted. "Now it's time for the second rotation. The US follow China on floor, starting with Sabrina Banks with a rather unconventional choice for her floor routine – **Quién será **better known as **Sway** by Dean Martin."

* * *

Sasha frowned, glancing over at Austin, whose expression mirrored his own. Elista Vega had just completed her floor routine and it wasn't even close to routine she had performed yesterday. She'd made several avoidable, but minor, mistakes and was deducted at the end of routine for finishing out of synchronization with her floor music. She'd qualified first on this apparatus just twenty-four hours earlier, but today she was floundering in the worst possible way.

"It's okay," Austin said, trying to reassure them both. "Payson and Kelly are like the shit when it comes to this. They'll pull them back up."

* * *

"They don't make them like they do in Colorado," Al said appreciatively as Payson completed her floor routine. "Between The Rock and Denver Elite, the US are bringing an unstoppable team to these games."

"That's right," Elfi agreed. "Despite some errors from Elista Vega, the other three girls have given enough to keep them in first position, firmly shutting the door on China and Russia."

"And just look at the playback – it's one of the most beautiful switch leaps I've ever seen, and I think Payson Keeler just gets better every time I see her," Tim proclaimed.

"Sounds like you've got the Keeler Fever," Elfi laughed, "or as they're calling it here in Saint Petersburg, _Kiler lihoradka_."

"No, not quite, Elfi," Tim said with just a touch of disdain. "But I will admit to being a fan of hers. It's a shame she won't be competing all around today, but this is a team competition and obviously the coaches are looking for the highest difficulty on individual events."

"Not to fret, Tim," Elfi assured him. "The next rotation in uneven bars, which as you said yesterday, is Payson's strongest event and where we're really going to see the US breaking away from the pack."

* * *

The uneven bars were another strong event for the US team. All four were highly ranked in this event, Sabrina and Becca ranking one and two at last Junior Nationals and Payson and Kelly ranking similarly through most of their gymnastics careers.

"This is where we close the door," Marty told them as they stood on the floor beside the podium. They all nodded firmly in agreement, hands in for one last cheer before beginning the rotation.

Becca was first, her routine just as strong as it had been the previous day and her handstands and extensions exactly where they needed to be. She flew through the routine, finishing with an under swing, tuck salto dismount and sticking the landing.

"That was great, Becca," Payson congratulated, hugging her sister tightly as she stepped down off the podium.

Becca smiled brightly, returning the embrace. "You really think so, Pay?" she asked. "I wasn't sure about Tkatchev and I –"

"You did great, Bec," Payson assured her, cutting off any criticism of the routine. "If you do it just like that tomorrow, I think there's a pretty good chance you might medal here."

Becca just smiled again, standing by her sister as they watched Sabrina perform a hip circle Hetch, turning quickly around the bar. She had just one transition left to meet the composition requirements and then her dismount – a backwards salto straight with two and half twists that had Ellen Beals salivating when she first debuted it at Junior Nationals practice two months ago. It was a strong routine and Sabrina was looking even better than she had the previous day.

As Sabrina left the floor, Kelly took her place nodding to Marty as he positioned the springboard for her. Once it was ready, she began her routine with a round-off with a full twist, catching the low bar and holding herself in a perfectly straight handstand. She transitioned from one bar to the other, her lines elegant and artful. Kelly Parker was nothing if not a performer, and her execution near flawless. She finished with a piked salto with one and a half turns, and landed firmly.

* * *

Sasha felt suddenly nervous as Payson approached the uneven bars, her last event of the day. After this, it was up to the rest of her team and out of her hands, and so her part in todays result seemed to hinge entirely upon this last event.

Austin laughed at his discomfort, the nervousness clearly obvious in his expression.

"You know she's got this," Austin assured him. "Payson's practically untouchable on the uneven bars."

"Yeah," Sasha agreed, releasing a haggard breath. "She's got this."

"Now stop looking so nervous," Austin commanded. "If the cameras catch you looking like that, they're going to think the worst."

Sasha nodded, making sure he was wearing a more neutral expression as she approached the apparatus. The routine was the same as yesterdays. A front salto over the low bar to mount the apparatus, followed by a transition to the low bar and an elegant handstand. It wasn't quite Genji Cho's round-off Arabian, but it was still incredible to watch and the grace that she brought to her routines – flowing from one skill to the next in seamless transitions – enthralled more than just Sasha. Her legs swung down, her body folding in half and her feet pressed to the bar so she could transition up to the high bar, swinging up into a handstand and a full turn on one hand.

She swung back down, building to her first release move – a relatively simple catch and release that allowed her to change directions and readjust her grip. From there she built up the momentum she needed for the Marinich – swinging forwards into a split jump straddling the bars and a forward salto, catching the high bar on her way down.

She raised herself into another handstand and then swung into one and a half turns, changing direction. From there it was a pike with rear support and a transition between the high bar and low bar, her hips circling the low bar before a straddle cut back to the high bar. She swung round once more, her last swing before the salto stretched dismount with a full twist, her body pin-straight and her landing making the whole thing look easy.

Sasha was the first person on his feet, cheering loudly and applauding what had to be one of her best performances yet. She smiled in his direction, seeming to know exactly where he was, and his heart stilled for just a moment as he took in this beautiful, talented, determined girl that just amazed him every day.

* * *

"I think we have to go back to the playback, boys, because I do not know where they're deducting from," Elfi exclaimed as Payson's score was posted, just one tenth shy of a perfect ten in execution.

"I agree," Tim nodded. "I know I say that Payson just keeps getting better, but today is honestly the best I've ever seen her. She's just at the top of her game today and the scores she's posting are even better than those that won her the All-Around gold just yesterday.

"I don't know what it is, Elfi, but this is Payson Keeler like we've never seen her before."

* * *

Elista was unstable from the moment she set foot on the beam. Her legs were shaking, her gestures were limp, and it wasn't all that surprising when several balance checks later, she fell off the beam mid-turn. She returned with a solid dismount – a double salto forward tucked that gave her a higher difficulty than Payson's salto forward stretched with one and a half twists – but it wasn't enough to save the routine.

Payson had slammed the door shut after her bars routine and Elista had thrown it wide open. No matter how good Becca and Kelly and Lauren were in their routines – and all of them were more than capable of medalling in this event – it wasn't enough to recoup.

* * *

"And a disappointing day for US gymnastics," Al announced sadly. "After such a strong start to the day, to leave here with silver . . . the team have to be hurting."

"I think it just shows that experience counts for a lot more than DOD at the end of the day," Tim pointed out. "Payson performs a C-skill in her dismount, thus giving her a relatively low DOD in beam compared to some gymnasts, but she is unfaltering and I've seen her perform incredibly under conditions other gymnasts couldn't even imagine.

"I think in a competition like this, that experience is worth a lot more than a mere two tenths difficulty, and her coaches must be kicking themselves for not seeing that sooner," he concluded sourly.

Elfi hummed in agreement. "Obviously a mistake has been made and it cost them significantly. I just hope those in charge learn form the mistake."

It was harsh criticism, especially from a group of commentators who had been cheerleading for USA gymnastics since the 1980s, but it was deserved. A mistake had been made, and the only question that remained was 'who would pay the price?'

~ to be continued ~

That was a rather exhaustifying chapter to write - gymnastics is hard but necessary, especially for this part. Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Notes:**

The following skills are featured in this chapter:

Vault:

**2.14 **Handspring forward on – tucked salto forward with 11⁄2 turn (540°) off (5.7)  
**2.24 **Handspring forward on – piked salto forward with 11⁄2 turn (540°) off (5.9)  
**4.35 **Round-off, flic-flac on – stretched salto backward with 21⁄2 turn (900°) off (6.5) (Yurchenko 2.5 - Anamar)  
**3.35 **Tsukahara stretched with 21⁄2 turn (900°) off (6.7)

Bars:

**6.302 **From HB – clear underswing with salto fwd tucked (C)  
**3.403 **Long swing fwd, counter straddle- reverse hecht over HB to hang (D)  
**6.404 **Swing fwd to salto bwd stretched with 21⁄2 twist (900°) (D)  
**1.509 **Round-off in front of LB, flic-flac with 1/1 twist (360°) to clear support or through hstd phase on LB (E)  
**6.401 **From HB – underswing with salto fwd tucked with 11⁄2 turn (540°) (D)

**1.407** Salto fwd tucked over LB to hang on HB without touching LB (D)  
**3.604** Facing outward on HB - swing fwd and counter salto fwd with legs straddled to catch HB in reverse grip (F) (Marinich)  
Unfortunately I didn't write this down as I was writing the chapter, so it gets a little hazy between the Marinich and the dismount.  
**6.506** Swing fwd to double salto bwd stretched with 1/1 twist (360°) in first or second salto (E)

Beam:

**6.602 **Double salto fwd tucked (F)  
**6.407 **Gainer salto stretched with legs together at end of the beam (D) (Changed from Salto fwd stretched with 1 1⁄2 twist (540°) – take-off from both legs thanks to JCI's advice)

* * *

**Translations:**


	31. The Aftermath

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Aftermath

_Grand Hotel Europe  
31 March 2012_

They were given express instructions not to answer questions, which was probably for the best. There was nothing they could possibly say to explain the loss or make it better, and it was made all the worse when Elista won a silver medal the following day in the event finals for floor exercise.

But their silence didn't stop the press from asking, and Payson received the painful brunt of it.

**"Payson, why didn't you perform in the beam rotation?"**

**"Payson, do you blame Elista Vega for the loss?"**

**"Payson, do you believe that the team could have won the gold if _you_ had been the one performing in the beam rotation?"**

**"Payson, whose decision was it to use Elista Vega for beam and not yourself or Sabrina Banks?"**

**"Payson, how are you coping with the loss?"**

The best she could answer was that it was disappointing and that there was nobody to blame. No one can predict what will happen in a competition and she honestly believed that everyone had tried their best in the competition.

Above all, although she wasn't given the chance to say this to the press, she didn't blame Elista for the loss. She was young – just recently turned fourteen and one of the youngest members of the Junior National team – and two straight days of competition while you were still recovering from a sixteen hour flight were more than what she was used to dealing with. It was a shame, but she wasn't the first gymnast to crumble under the pressure. It was just sad that she would be forever remembered as the gymnast that lost them the Team gold at the Pacific Rim Championship.

Payson blamed herself, not Elista. Marty had always intended to have her compete all-around in the team competition, but her mistake at practice had made it difficult to convince Ellen Beals that she was a better choice than Elista. If she'd had her head in the right place at training, this never would have happened. In Payson's mind, she was the one that lost them the Team gold, not Elista.

"Payson," Sasha said gently, holding her close as they sat together on his couch. She'd snuck into his room after bed check, just needing to be near him. Ellen Beals had given her an impressive guilt trip before turning out their lights, making sure that Payson knew exactly who she blamed for the result.

"_Dragă_," he murmured lowly, stroking her cheek, "this is not your fault."

"It is," she disagreed. "I was meant to be on beam, not Elista. She was only there because I let myself get distracted at practice.

"I shouldn't have let things get to me," she continued, shaking her head morosely. "I should have been better than that. I should have – "

"Payson," he said firmly, cutting her off as he caught his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. "This is not your fault.

"If anyone is to blame, it's me," he pointed out. "I was the one distracting you, _dragă_. This is my fault."

"No," she protested quickly, immediately coming to his defence, as he knew she would. "That's just ridiculous, Sasha. How can you be held to blame for someone else's actions? You weren't even competing."

"Then hopefully you realize how silly it is to blame yourself for this, Pay," he returned quickly, his plan revealed.

"It was unfortunate, but you are not to blame," he reiterated. "You've said before that Ellen Beals has it in for you. Even if you'd been perfect at practice, that woman would have found a way to prevent you from competing. She cares more about degree of difficulty than execution and experience.

"She'd happily see you girls half kill yourselves for an extra tenth of a point," he concluded sternly.

"I can't believe she said that to you," he added with an angry expression, looking ready to cause Beals physical damage for her comments.

"I deserved it," Payson replied in a small voice, ducking her head. "I messed up."

"You do not deserve to be spoken to like that, _dragă_, and you did not mess up" he disagreed. He lifted her chin, letting her read the anger and concern in his eyes. "I swear if I see that woman . . ." he said, trailing off into a stream of angry expletives in Romanian that described the various ways he would injure that woman if she crossed his path. Somehow he felt his means were insufficient.

Beals had more or less implied, without addressing Payson directly or mentioning her by name, that the loss had occurred because 'someone' had been more concerned with 'getting her rocks off' with him than she had been with the competition at hand. It had made him angry enough when Payson told him that he was ready to run down to Beals' room and give her a piece of his mind, and it was only the fact that it would do Payson more harm than good that had kept him in his own room.

"Sasha," she said softly, wiping the tenseness away from his features with the pads of her fingers. He caught her hand in his own, kissing the tips of her fingers affectionately.

"You deserve only good things_, frumoasă fata mea_," he told her. "I'm mad that that woman made you think otherwise."

She smiled weakly, touched by his words. But her expression fell quickly, tears filling her eyes as the loss and the pressure she'd competed under during the day, finally got to her.

"Shhh," he hushed softly, stroking her hair and holding her head against his shoulder. He murmured gentle sentiments in Romanian, the soft, illegible words calming her tears.

"You were incredible yesterday, Payson," he assured her. "There's nothing more you could have done. It's sad how things turned out, but you all still did incredibly well."

"But if things were different . . ." she protested, wiping at her eyes. "If I'd been better . . ."

"There's no point dwelling on the 'what ifs', Payson," he told her. "You can't hold yourself responsible for this. You gave everything you could in the team competition – the rest was out of your control."

She nodded, looking a bit more like herself than she had earlier. She had come to his door looking shaken and uncertain, and he'd instinctively pulled her towards him, needing desperately to protect her and keep her safe.

"Thank you," she said sweetly, sitting back a little. "I think I just needed to cry a little," she admitted. She looked embarrassed for her emotional display, her eyes landing guiltily upon the damp patch in his shirt.

"I should go," she sighed, getting to her feet.

"Stay," he responded automatically, catching her hand as she tried to leave. He wasn't ready to see her go, especially when she was still looking a little fragile.

He smiled playfully, hoping to wheedle her into agreeing to his request. "I sleep better with you beside me," he said, insisting that it was for his benefit, not hers.

She reflected his smile, small but genuine. "And you know this from one night?" she asked, feeling confident enough in herself to tease and argue and put him in his place.

"You're right," he nodded and she looked surprised to have him agree with her so easily. He grinned up at her and tugged her suddenly into his lap, trapping her in his arms. "This requires replication. We need to prove scientifically that this is not a mere fluke or the result of chance variation."

The laugh she bit back was even more genuine than her smile. She wiggled in his embrace, trying to break free as he nuzzled her neck in response until she finally agreed to stay, making it clear to him that she did so under protest and that she was here only for the integrity of the experiment.

"You are such a dork," she giggled, settling back into his arms.

"But you like dorks, so what does that make you?" he retorted childishly, knowing this would make her smile.

"Not dorks. Just you," she replied seriously, kissing him sweetly on his jaw.

"I like you too," he smiled, returning the innocent, child-like kiss to the side of her face. "But I think you already know that."

"I do," she agreed. She closed her eyes for a moment and snuggled into his embrace, allowing her body to relax into his.

"I guess we better get you to bed, _dragă_," he sighed, glancing at the clock. It was already half-past ten and she did have a competition tomorrow, even if it wasn't until the afternoon.

She let out a quiet 'hmm' of agreement, but made no attempt to leave his arms. He didn't mind and simply adjusted her position so that he could carry her through to the bedroom and lay her on the bed. He turned back the covers on the empty side of the bed and lifted her over, tucking her feet under the blankets and pulling the covers up to her chin.

He changed in the bathroom into a pair of long pyjama pants and a comfortable t-shirt, and then slipped into the bed beside her. Payson immediately shifted closer to him, curling into his side and entwining their legs. He wrapped an arm around her in response, pillowing her head against his shoulder.

"I think you're right," she said quietly as she made herself comfortable. "This is better."

He merely smiled in response, running his hand through her hair as she closed her eyes and settled against his shoulder.

"_Frumoasa delicată fată mea_," he murmured softly in Romanian as she fell asleep beside him, her head lolling and her breathing becoming deep and even within moments.

* * *

_Keeler Residence – Boulder, CO  
1 April 2012_

_"And there we have it. An incredible day of competition for Payson Keeler and the rest of the US Women's team,"_ Tim Dagget, one of Payson's biggest fans, declared.

_"Indeed_," Elfi Shlegal agreed. _"Two gold medals for Payson on vault and floor. Kelly Parker earning the silver on floor and bronze for her Amanar. A gold medal for Sabrina Banks on the uneven bars and two bronze medals to Rebecca Keeler on beam and bars."_

_"These girls are really sweeping the medals here,"_ Al Taurtwig put in. _"It's just a shame that we couldn't have seen this kind of –"_

Kim pointedly muted the television, cutting off the rest of the commentary.

It really was a shame, the way that everyone kept going on about it. The girls had all done brilliantly in the individual competition and all six of them had medalled in at least one event final. They would be bringing an impressive fourteen medals back home with them, but all anyone could talk about was the team silver and how it should have been gold.

"I really hate that man," she muttered darkly, glaring at the commentator on screen. "I don't know why they let him do the commentary. He hasn't the slightest idea what he's talking about."

Mark gently took her hand, trying his best to calm his wife. "He can say what he likes," he said in a placating tone. "Payson and Becca did great and nothing he says is going to take that away from them."

"You're right," Kim agreed firmly, feeling herself calm a little. "I can't wait 'til they get back," she smiled. "Becca must be so excited.

"Maybe we should throw a party?" she suggested. "I mean, nobody else seems to be celebrating," she added bitingly, unable to stop herself form throwing in the scathing comment.

"None of that," Mark admonished.

Kim nodded her silent agreement, trying to stick to positive thoughts. "I'll talk to Summer and we'll organize something together even if it's just a nice quite dinner with the Tanners and the girls." Mark grimaced making Kim laugh. "Oh, Steve Tanner isn't so bad," she tried to defend unconvincingly. His expression remained unchanged and she was forced to concede the point with a sigh. "I know. But Lauren was there too, which means we don't have a choice about inviting him."

"Fine, but if I get stuck in a conversation with Steve Tanner you have to promise to come save me," Mark insisted.

"Promise," Kim retorted, kissing him sweetly on the cheek. "Now, the girls will be home tomorrow, so what do you feel like doing with our last night of freedom from the woes of parenthood?"

Mark looked thoughtful for a moment before offering a suggestion. "Beatles Rock Band?"

Kim grinned back at him. "It's like you read my mind."

* * *

_Tanner Residence_

"I swear, the second they get back in the country I'm going to talk to that Ellen Beals and find out what the hell was going on there," Steve Tanner said forcibly as he watched the recap of the team finals on _Sports Centre_. "That junior girl just screwed the whole damn team over with her floor routine. This could have been completely avoided if Marty had put Lauren on floor instead."

Summer grimaced a little, unsure of what sort of difference it really would have made. Lauren's floor routine, while good, wasn't nearly high enough to save them from the mess made on beam. They'd lost nearly a whole point on that fall, and while Lauren and the two other girls had worked hard to close the gap, it wasn't enough and it was only the solid performances on the earlier events that kept them in the top three at the end of the day.

But she let Steve have his moment, because this is how he needed to deal with it – by making it about Lauren, and him by association. The mistake, according to every sports media outlet around, was taking Payson off beam and from what she'd seen, Summer was willing to bet that that had been Ellen Beals' decision, not Marty's.

"Lauren did so well on beam," she said brightly, trying to distract him a little. "She's really closing in on Genji Cho – don't you think Steve?"

It worked and suddenly Steve was talking about celebrating Lauren's medal and how Lauren was quite clearly the best beamer on the US National Team and how at this rate she'd probably be taking gold in the event in London. She breathed a small sigh of relief, resolving to keep Steve away from the sports news until this whole mess blew over. The girls would be back tomorrow, and the last thing Lauren needed to hear was her father going on about some meaningless mistake in the team competition.

It was a shame that he couldn't see past that.

~ to be continued ~

I love the contrast in this last part between the Keelers and Steve – between Kim who can't stand listening to them talking about the team competition and Steve who can speak of nothing else until Summer gently intervenes.

* * *

**Notes:**

I decided, for some reason I don't exactly remember, that the event finals would alternate events. So instead of getting both beam competitions over and done with on one day, you got all four events each day, but with juniors and seniors performing. A really strange way of doing it, and I'm not really sure why I got it into my head, but it was easier just to leave it than to fix those details that rely on it.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Frumoasa delicată fată mea_: My beautiful, delicate girl.


	32. The Problem With Holding Grudges

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Problem With Holding Grudges

_The Rock – Boulder, CO  
21 April 2012_

Payson was not looking forward to this months National Team practice – not that she ever really did. It was a little under three weeks on from the unexpected 'loss' in Saint Petersburg, and she knew that Ellen Beals was still holding grudges, unwilling to simply let it go and turn her focus where it belonged – on getting the team ready for London.

"You look how I feel," Kelly noted, stopping at the gym doors when she saw Payson arrive. They wore matching grim expressions; both of them dreading what would await them inside. They both knew that this practice would be especially gruelling with Beals taking out her anger and embarrassment on those girls that wore the black mark of the Pacific Rim Championship.

"I don't think I could put into words how much I'm dreading practice today," Payson murmured tiredly.

Kelly grimaced, clearly sharing the sentiment. "Beals'll be out for blood," she said. "Especially yours."

"Like that will really be that much of a change," Payson muttered despairingly, sarcasm getting the better of her this fine spring morning. She waved as Lauren's convertible pulled into the parking lot and swerved into its nominated space at high speed. Lauren joined them at the entrance, happy to find some sort of distraction to delay the inevitable.

"I see we all had a similar idea," Lauren grimaced. "My dad went like completely ape-shit at the NGO when we got back. This is not going to be a fun practice.

"Is everyone else here?" she asked nervously.

"I'd say so," Kelly said, gesturing to the full parking lot. "Looks like it's time to face the music."

They nodded and the three of the stepped into the gym together, hoping that the backlash from Ellen Beals might be easier if they faced it collectively. They weren't disappointed – Beals was on them the moment they entered the gym.

"How good of you three to finally join us for practice?" she muttered darkly, her eyes narrowed at the three gymnasts. "Do you have anything to say to your colleagues?" she pressed. "We could have begun much sooner if the three of you had arrived on time."

They looked contrite even though they weren't actually late, but they knew there was no arguing with Ellen Beals when she was on the war path.

"Good," the woman said smugly. "Payson," she said, her eyes zoning in on her favourite target, "if you have a moment I'd like to talk to you before you get into practice."

"Of course, Ms Beals," Payson replied, smiling painfully politely as she separated from Lauren and Kelly. The girls both sent her sympathetic looks as they joined the rest of their teammates in warm-ups with Marty and two of the other club coaches. Payson followed Beals to a more secluded part of the gym, keeping a pleasant smile on her face the whole time.

"Now, Payson," Beals began firmly. "It is my understanding that you're _involved _with the British Champion, Sasha Belov."

"World Champion," Payson corrected automatically. "We've been seeing each other for a few months now," she said, confirming Beals' 'understanding'. It was obvious that Beals wasn't pleased with the fact that she was seeing Sasha – she'd made that _abundantly clear _in Russia when she more or less blamed the team silver on Sasha's presence in Saint Petersburg – but Payson refused to back down and call it something less than what it was for Beals' sake. She had done nothing wrong in Saint Petersburg, despite what Ellen Beals had to say about the matter, and it was frankly none of the National Team coordinator's business who she was seeing in her personal life.

"Is there a problem with that?" she challenged with a sugary smile, her tone making it clear that if there was a problem, then Beals would simply have to live with it.

Beals smiled tightly in reply. "There is," she said, ignoring Payson's sarcastic tone. "I understand that this gym has a 'No Dating Rule' in place and that breach of The Rock Charter is grounds for expulsion."

The intent of her words was evident – Ellen Beals was threatening her – although the reasons for the threat were less clear.

Payson's hands tightened into fists at her sides as she took a breath to contain her anger. "I don't see how that should have anything to do with the NGO," she said, keeping her tone light despite the seriousness of the words that followed. "Enforcement of The Rock Charter is at the discretion of the head coach and head of the parents board – in this case, Marty Walsh and _my mother_," she pointed out for Beals' benefit.

"My _understanding_," she said more forcibly, "is that the exercise of that discretion is no business of the NGO, who expressly gave the associated clubs the right of self-governance. Although, obviously that would be something you'd be more knowledgeable on, Ms Beals," she finished with a challenging smirk. She internally congratulated herself on the small _Legally Blonde_-esque speech, thinking it worthy of any prime time legal drama.

Ellen Beals looked thoroughly put out by it and by the ineffectiveness of her threat. The annoyance was visible one her face, her expression tightening and her teeth rearing back as though she'd just bitten into a sour lemon. "The NGO are not concerned with how Marty Walsh operates this gym or whether or not he _condones_," the woman said darkly, "you behaviour. We are only concerned with how your decisions affect others.

"And your current choice of _beau_," she continued with a sarcastic lilt, "is a poor reflection upon yourself and on the National Team."

Payson scoffed, unable to hide behind the mask of pleasantries much longer. "Don't tell me you're actually concerned for my well-being?" she asked, openly surprised by this ostensible show of concern. "I assure that Sasha is the last person who would try to do me harm.

"He can be quite protective of me," she added with a smile. There was a small threat of her own implied, knowing that Sasha would go to great lengths to avenge anything Beals might try against her.

Beals reply was a smile so counterfeit that it seemed to mock genuine feeling. "Of course he is," she said patronizingly. "As we all are.

"You are our 'golden girl', after all, and we wouldn't want anything getting in the way of that, would we?" she asked, her words heavy with malicious undertones.

"We're just concerned that some of your choices might be seen by some as . . . unpatriotic," she explained with a superior looking smile. "So close to the Olympics . . . one has to wonder why . . ." she trailed off, letting her implications just hang there.

"Never mind," she said, waving it off a moment later. "I'm sure nobody's even said anything. I'm sure nobody thinks it's . . . disloyal for you be to be dating your friend's rival."

She shrugged, her eyes narrowed as she went in for the kill. "I mean, what's a little competition between friends."

She left it there, letting the words settle between them and letting the young gymnast make of them what she would. It was one of the great benefits of women's gymnastics – teenage girls were just too easy to manipulate.

* * *

"So what did Beals have to say?" Lauren asked at their lunch break, as the girls congregated together out by the annex. It was a nice enough day to eat outside and there was a nice grassy area behind the annex where they could catch the sun and relax before another gruelling five hours of National Team practice. They sat around a blanket from one of the girls' cars as they ate and talked.

Payson groaned and rolled her eyes. "She wanted to know about me and Sasha," she said tiredly, flopping back on the grass exasperatedly.

Lauren grimaced in disgust. "Ew," she said simply. "I know she's like totally unfortunate and can't get a date herself, but that's no excuse for voyeurism."

Payson had to laugh at Lauren's expression and assumption, shaking her head at Lauren's perfect description of Ellen Beals as 'totally unfortunate'. "Thank you so much, Lauren," she cheered. "I really needed that."

"The rest of us didn't," Emily complained. "I think that is an image I'll never get out of my head. I'm scarred for life," she groused dramatically.

"It's not my fault you have an overactive imagination," Lauren shrugged unapologetically.

"Beals isn't _that_ bad," Kaylie said weakly in the woman's defence. The other three gave sceptical looks and she quickly relented. "Alright she is."

"I don't know what she has against us all," Emily sighed, tugging at the blades of grass and tossing them into the wind. "She's always out to get us one way or another."

"Isn't it obvious?" Lauren asked giving them all incredulous looks. She paused for a moment to build suspense and then proceeded to explain. "She wants to be the coach of the National Team, or at the very least, she wants someone coaching the team who's going to follow her every whim. She doesn't like that Marty's the one with all the power, and she takes it out on us because we're his gymnasts," she said, finishing with a casual shrug.

"That's ridiculous," Payson muttered in response, sitting back up and crossing her legs underneath her. "No one is that sociopathic."

"Really?" Lauren scoffed, giving her a pointed look. "Then what did she say to you?"

"That I should stop seeing Sasha because it looks unpatriotic, and – if I've understood her hints correctly – she'll make it very difficult for me on the National Team if I don't," she said drolly, her features creasing with annoyance.

Lauren looked smug. "I think I rest my case."

"What does she even think she can do to you?" Emily put in. "You're the number one gymnast in the world right now, Pay. You're untouchable and she knows it. That's why she's trying to get into your head like this."

"I don't know. Beals has a lot of influence over the NGO," Kaylie warned. "I mean, just look what happened to you guys in Saint Petersburg."

Emily sent her a warning look. The Pacific Rim Championships were a taboo subject, not to be directly referred to unless it was completely necessary.

"That was one event in the team competition," Lauren pointed out. "It hardly counts," she scoffed.

"Moving on," Payson said loudly, before it developed into a real argument. "You know, I was actually worried for a second there that she might be right, but than she started going on about Austin and you guys and how I was being a bad friend.

"How ridiculous is that?" she asked disdainfully.

"Seriously?" Emily asked, feeling appalled by Beals' low opinion of their friendship. "That woman is a complete head case. Does she really think Austin or any of us care about that?"

"How is you and Sasha different from me and Carter?" Lauren questioned supportively. "Why does it even matter?"

As Lauren and Emily protested Beals' accusations, Kaylie was conspicuously quiet for a long moment until she finally spoke in a low voice. "She does have a point."

They were all silent after that, waiting for the words to sink and hoping that with time they would change or make more sense to them all. "What?" Lauren asked, the first to break the silence.

Kaylie wrung her hands before her, staring down at them rather than making eye contact with the rest of the circle. "I just . . . you say Austin is your friend, Pay, but the person you're dating just took away Austin's World title," Kaylie pointed out reluctantly.

"But that has nothing to do with me dating Sasha," Payson replied with a pained look. She couldn't believe what Kaylie was saying or how her friend could think that way. "Who the better gymnast is has nothing to do with me."

"So you're saying Sasha is a better gymnast than Austin?" Kaylie asked aggressively, lifting her gaze to glare at Payson. Both knew that that wasn't the way that Payson meant it, but that was exactly how it came out.

"At Worlds? Yes," Payson replied neutrally, feeling as though she was stating the obvious. "That's why he's the World Champion."

"And you guys are just so perfect together," Kaylie muttered scathingly. "The King and Queen of Gymnastics – are they still calling you that? Or have they moved on to Paysha and Sa-Pay?"

"What the hell, Kaylie?" Payson gaped. "Where's this even coming from? Do you honestly believe that some gymnastics results have any bearing on my friendship with Austin? Or you?" she added, sensing that this really wasn't really about Austin at all.

"You don't get it, Payson," Kaylie said tiredly, rising to her feet. "Everything is just so easy for you. You've got the perfect family. Your perfect gymnastics. The perfect career.

"This is the one thing I had," she said sadly, turning away from her friends. "And now you've taken that too.

"Just go cry to your perfect boyfriend, Payson," she said, throwing in one last scathing remark. "I'm sure he'll know the _perfect_ thing to say."

The girls just gaped, the three of them left stunned in the wake of hurricane Kaylie.

_"What the HELL was that about?"_

~ to be continued ~

So now the drama really begins, and between Kaylie Cruz and Ellen Beals, things are going to get tense for Payson

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**


	33. Lines in the Sand

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Lines in the Sand

_Austin's Lake House_

Austin wasn't surprised to hear a knock at his door at eight o'clock that evening, just an hour after National Team practice ended. He _was_ surprised to find that the person on the other side of the door was Payson Keeler and not his pint-sized Hispanic girlfriend.

"I'll do this quickly," she said firmly, stepping inside the door without giving him the chance to invite her in. "Do you hate me for dating Sasha?"

The question took him aback for a moment. He couldn't understand how someone as rational as Payson could be asking him something so irrational. "Um . . . where's this coming from?" he asked curiously, worried about what her answer might be.

"Ellen Beals trying to get in my head," Payson replied moodily, "but if I don't hear you say it I'm going to keep thinking about it, and I won't let her win. So say it, Austin," she demanded.

"Say what?" he asked.

"That you don't hate me for dating Sasha," Payson explained to him hopefully. "That you don't think I'm a bad friend."

"Payson, why would I think that?" Austin asked, sounding almost offended by the suggestion. "I'm Sasha's friend too, remember?"

"I know that," she sighed. "It's just . . . Kaylie said . . ."

"She didn't mean it," he defended quickly without even knowing what his girlfriend has said. What he did know was that there were parts of Kaylie that resented Payson for being able to come back the way that she did and for everything that she'd achieved at Kaylie's expense – there could only be one Champion, after all – and that adding Sasha Belov into the mix had made things that much worse.

"I know," Payson said again. "But she said it, so I had to check."

Austin looked at her gently, really living up to his big brother role tonight. "The fact that me and Sasha are _technically_ rivals doesn't stop you and me from being friends, Payson," he told her honestly. "You can cheer for the both of us and that doesn't make you a bad girlfriend or a bad friend.

"I know Sasha would say the same," he finished reassuringly.

She smiled, looking relieved and comforted by his words. "Thanks, Austin," she breathed gratefully. "For the confirmation," she added. "I knew it, I just . . . needed to hear you say it."

"It's fine, Keeler," he laughed, catching her shoulder in a brotherly, one-armed hug. "I know you're not crazy."

"Gee, thanks," she muttered sarcastically, shifting from his embrace. "I'm glad I have your professional opinion on that."

"Well, I – "

"Austin," Kaylie called as she came in, carrying a bag of take out on her wrist. "You wouldn't believe what . . ." she trailed off as she caught sight of Payson. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms awkwardly over her chest. "What are you doing here?"

Kaylie continued before Payson could answer. "Let me guess," she muttered dramatically, pursing her lips, "You're here to tell on me to my boyfriend. I guess even _perfect Payson Keeler_ isn't above narking."

Payson scoffed exasperatedly. "For your information, Kaylie, I'm here to ask my friend if he hates me because my boyfriend stole his World title.

"Thank you, Austin," she said, glancing back at her friend before glaring at Kaylie. "But obviously I should go," she announced as she strode out the door.

"Kayles, please tell me you didn't say that to her," Austin groaned once Payson was gone, unsure of how he was supposed to fix this.

"Say what?" Kaylie replied angrily, interpreting Austin's question as him taking Payson's side. "All I did was tell her what it looked like to people," she told him. "It's not my fault she took it badly and started going on about how Sasha was a better gymnast than you."

He looked sceptical but didn't question her aloud. He was pretty sure it hadn't gone the way Kaylie said. Payson wasn't that kind of person – she wouldn't say anything behind your back that she wouldn't say to your face. Obviously something had been said, and between the two of them they'd managed to blow it way out of proportion.

"Sasha is a better gymnast than me," Austin pointed out, unsure of what else he could say without sounding like he was accusing her of something. "That's why he's the World Champion."

Kaylie glared and he knew immediately that he'd said the wrong thing.

"He bet me at Worlds, but that doesn't mean he's going to beat me in London," he tried. "But I'm not gonna hate him if he does," he added tentatively. "Or Payson. You can't help who you fall in love with."

"Please," Kaylie scoffed in annoyance. Her jealousy was showing in the worst possible way - she was losing her position of America's Sweetheart as Payson's relationship with Sasha forced her into a spotlight she had no desire to be in and the only way that Kaylie knew to react to that realization was bitterness.

"You think she's in love with him? She's only with him because of what he can do for her career," she accused bitingly. "She wouldn't have half as many endorsements if she wasn't with Sasha."

Austin frowned pensively, putting his hand on her shoulder. "You don't honestly believe that, do you, Kayles?" he asked her. "I mean, you and Payson have known each other for years. Do you really think she'd be with a guy just for the press? That she'd go to that much effort for a guy if he didn't mean that much to her?"

"What effort?" Kaylie replied. "Sasha Belov practically fell into her lap. Everything is so easy for her. She doesn't even have to hide her relationship like the rest of us.

"Payson just gets everything," she said, almost sobbing at this point. "And what's left for the rest of us?"

"Kaylie," Austin said softly, pulling her into his arms and cradling her against her chest.

He sighed, picking his words carefully. "You don't really mean that, Kayles," he said worriedly.

"Of course I do," she protested, anger overriding sadness.

"You don't, Kayles," he said more firmly. "Payson is one of your best friends – are you really gonna be mad at her for being successful?

"Unless that's not it?" he added, teasing out the problem. "You were okay when Payson bet you at Nationals and even Worlds, so what's changed, Kaylie?"

"Nothing's changed," she insisted as she pushed him away. "Maybe I was just mad at her then and didn't tell you? Did you ever think of that, Sherlock?"

"Maybe, but not like this, Kaylie," he argued back. "Not like implying her boyfriend ruined my career."

"I should have known you'd take her side," Kaylie growled.

"I'm not taking sides," Austin protested. "I just want to know what's going on in your head."

She glared at him for a long moment, holding in her anger and resentment to the point where it was inevitable that it would come out.

"You really want to know, Austin?" she asked hotly, waiting for his confirmation before she finally allowed herself to say her cruellest thoughts aloud. "I didn't care about it then because that was all Payson had. I didn't care how many championships Payson won or how many gold medals she had, because I knew that gymnastics was all she had.

"I felt sorry for her," she said, laughing at her own false superiority, "because I made my choice – you can either be the best or you can be happy. You don't get to have both.

"At least, that's true for most of us," she finished bitterly. "If you're perfect Payson Keeler you get it all – a happy family, a thriving career, and a perfect boyfriend who'd cross the whole damn ocean for her in a heartbeat.

"Payson gets everything," she said one last time. "And I get none of it."

"Kaylie . . ." he tried, words failing him for once in his life. It wasn't what he'd expected her to say – not even close – and he had no idea how to comfort her. "Kaylie, what are you saying?" he asked as he words sunk in.

She just shook her head. "Austin, I think we should break up."

* * *

_The Rock_

If Saturday's practice was painful then Sunday's was marked to be tense. Kaylie and Payson were clearly not speaking to one another, and the younger girls on the team looked unsettled by the noticeable discord in the team. Lauren and Emily tried not to take sides, but it was inevitable. Lauren and Kaylie had been best friends long before any of the other girls came to The Rock, and Emily, despite trying her best to stay neutral, just couldn't understand where Kaylie was coming from.

"Whatever, Keeler," Kelly muttered consolingly after Emily had given a brief rundown of what had happened during yesterday's lunch break as the girls stretched on what had been designated Payson's side of the gym.

"It's not like anyone cares what Kaylie Cruz thinks," Kelly continued haughtily, "or Ellen Beals for that matter. I doubt anyone is even thinking about Austin Tucker when they see you and Sasha together."

"Thanks," Payson strained, not entirely pleased by the show of solidarity. She'd rather keep the dispute – if you could even call it that – between herself and Kaylie without involving their teammates.

"Speaking of which," Kelly pressed on, "what did the boyfriend say?"

Payson suppressed an eye roll and sighed. "I had to talk him out of hiring a hit man," she said, her lips quirking a little at Sasha's somewhat over-zealous reaction. "Ellen Beals should count herself lucky that Sasha is too much of a gentleman to hit a lady."

They all glanced in Beals' direction and collectively snorted – Ellen Beals was no lady, not by any stretch of the imagination. "He more or less said the same thing Austin said," Payson continued. "Austin's his friend. The fact that they're rivals has nothing to do with our relationship or theirs.

"He said if anyone's being 'unpatriotic' it's him," she laughed, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. "And that he 'damn well hopes'," she said, making a poor imitation of Sasha's charming and rakish British accent, "we kick England's butt at the Olympics."

"An endorsement from Sasha Belov himself," Kelly cheered. "We are so kicking ass in London."

"Ladies," Ellen Beals said clearly, cutting off the hushed conversations they were engaged in. "Today we will be deciding the six National Team members that will be attending the US Invitational against France and Italy in Orlando, Florida.

"This is the last International meet before the Olympic Games and it is very likely that the six girls going to Orlando will be the same six representing the United States in London," she said seriously, building the tri-nation event to momentous proportions. Despite her spiel, all twelve gymnasts knew that the only things that would determine the team going to London were Nationals in June and the Olympic trials that followed.

"We will be starting practice with an all-around rotation, where we will be watching you all very carefully. From that we will select the team going to Orlando," she finished sternly.

"Anything else you'd like to say, Ms Beals?" Marty asked tightly, clearly not happy with Beals taking the floor. "So if there's nothing more from our National Team Coordinator," he said bitingly, his tone implying that he did not think anything of her title or that the 'National Team Coordinator' should have any business addressing his gymnasts, "when you're ready I want you on the following."

He read off the list, being careful to ensure that Kaylie and Payson were on separate apparatuses – he didn't want to risk there being any sort of confrontation in the gym, especially when there was a chance Ellen Beals might use that to keep one or both of them out of this meet.

"Payson, I'd like to see your beam with the Arabian dismount," Marty called out as Payson, Kelly, and Andrea Conway moved on to their final rotation. It wasn't strictly necessary that she perform it, but a very sadistic part of him wanted to rub it in Ellen Beals' face that Payson's DOD was right up there with Lauren and Genji Cho.

Payson nodded, mounting the beam from the springboard with a beautiful aerial walkover. The execution was near perfect and the benefit of her ballet classes with Viola Pettinger were apparent in her toe touches and graceful arm movements and ballet style elements incorporated into the routine. It was well beyond the routine showcased at Worlds or the Pacific Rim Championships. She finished with the Arabian double front – propelling off the beam with a half twist and then, tucking her body into its most aerodynamic position, completed two tucked saltos before landing on her feet.

"How come I didn't know she had an Arabian double front?" Ellen Beals hissed beside him, looking near furious as the other National Team officials nodded their approval.

"It wasn't competition ready," Marty shrugged, directing Kelly onto the beam and reminding her to be mindful of her leg positioning in the switch leap that followed almost directly from her mount. "We needed to change some of the other elements so it could be incorporated more harmoniously," he said to Beals without turning his eyes from Kelly's routine to acknowledge her.

It was technically the truth. Sasha had suggested some elements that might go better with Payson's new hybrid style and it was those elements that had taken more time to perfect, rather than the dismount itself.

"And she won't be showing it at the invitational," he added.

"And why not?" Beals asked loudly, challenging the decision. "It looks competition ready now."

Marty shook his head. Ellen Beals had no mind for long-term strategy. She wanted the instant win – the instant gratification – which was why she reacted badly to anything short of gold. "Right now China have discounted Payson on beam. I don't want them to realize that they've made a mistake until Cho leaves London with a bronze," he stated firmly.

"Excellent, Kelly," he encouraged. "Try and get more height on your dismount – I think we can get an extra twist on the back salto before London. I'll talk to Ryan so he can start working on it for Nationals."

"Yes, Marty," Kelly replied sweetly, making her way over to Payson.

"I can't believe you let Beals keep you off beam when you had an Arabian double front," she whispered to Payson.

"It wasn't competition ready," Payson lied.

"Yeah, right," Kelly scoffed. "I know exactly what you're doing, Keeler.

"I must say I'm liking this new, devious side of you," she complimented. "Secret dismounts, illicit liaisons, catfights with Princess Cruz. I could almost be friends with this Payson Keeler."

"You mean we're not friends?" Payson gaped in mock affront and laughed as Kelly shrugged her shoulders indifferently. They weren't quite friends and they never really would be, but there was mutual respect and an understanding that Payson was exempt from Kelly's mind games, at least when it mattered.

"Thank you, ladies," Marty said as the final gymnast finished her rotation.

"Thank you," Ellen Beals echoed, taking the floor once again. "You've given us a lot to think about. We'll be making our decision over lunch. After that we'll be holding a practice for the team going to Orlando. The rest of you will be dismissed," she finished darkly.

"Ooo," Kelly muttered sarcastically, drawing laughter from those close enough to hear. On that note they scattered and headed to their gym bags lined up against the wall.

Payson smiled as a familiar tune rang out from her gym bag – Tim Minchin's hilarious 'Inflatable You' (which opened with the line _"your love for me is not debatable"_). "You have perfect timing," she greeted as she answered the call, knowing it was Sasha from the ringtone. She smiled as he subtly checked that she was okay and they made plans for her upcoming visit to London, and she was completely oblivious to the sinister smile slowly forming on Ellen Beals' face.

* * *

"Shall we begin?" Beals asked once the committee were comfortably situated in a private room. The other officials nodded, flipping through the notes they had jotted down throughout practice.

"We'll start with the obvious choices," she directed, taking charge of the meeting. She glanced briefly at her own notes and announced her top choices as though the matter was undisputed. "Kaylie Cruz and Kelly Parker are both looking like strong all-around choices."

"And Payson Keeler," Ryan Stanton, the Denver Elite coach added, feeling he was stating the obvious.

Beals frowned and looked deliberately pensive. "After Saint Petersburg I'm really not so sure," she said, being deliberately vague.

"About what?" someone questioned, to Beals' annoyance. "She's the World Champion."

"Payson had nothing to do with Saint Petersburg," Marty said lowly. "Elista's beam routine was chosen because it had a higher DOD despite Payson scoring consistently higher in execution." He looked harshly in Beals' direction – the culprit of such a decision.

"It's certainly higher now," one of the officials put in, entirely missing the undertones of Marty's explanation. "I calculated Payson Keeler's routine as a 7.1 D-score. That has to be one of the highest DODs in the world right now."

"That may be the case," Beals said, sounding regretful, "but I'm not sure that Payson is as _committed_," she paused to emphasise the word and let the other committee members draw their own conclusions about what it meant, "to gymnastics as she should be."

"What are you trying to say, Ms Beals?" Marty asked seriously. He narrowed his eyes at her as he tried to work out what game she was playing here.

"Well I just think that the rest of the committee should be aware of what happened in Saint Petersburg," she answered coolly with an innocent smile. "Like, for example, that Payson Keeler went out with Sasha Belov the night before the team competition."

There were several gasps from committee members, which Marty thought was completely unnecessary. Ryan rolled his eyes and shared a glance with Marty. The reaction was pure idiocy – Payson going to dinner with Sasha had no causative relationship to Elista's underwhelming performance on beam. Both Keeler girls had performed splendidly the next day and had done their part to ensure that the team went away with silver and not bronze.

Marty responded defensively and tried to undo Beals' poisoned comments. "It was dinner and Payson and Becca had our permission to go out," he said, making it clear that the event was completely innocent. "The decision not to have Payson compete on beam was made well before then."

"Because she was distracted by Sasha Belov," Beals argued loudly, not letting her point go. "We couldn't depend on her."

"It wasn't like that," Marty protested. He smiled tightly, glaring maliciously back at Beals. "Some people just felt that Elista's routine was stronger."

"It was exactly like that," Beals responded. "Payson's commitment to gymnastics has been questionable ever since she started seeing that man. Did you see her today? As soon as practice was done she was on the phone to him. She's obviously far more concerned with her relationship than her place on this team."

Marty was almost surprised that Ellen Beals could sink so low, when this was all entirely her doing. "You really want me to tell everyone why Sasha called?" he threatened. "Do you really want me to tell everyone why her boyfriend felt it was _necessary_ to call her as soon as practice ended?

"Why exactly do you think he's so concerned, Ms Beals?" Marty asked meaningfully.

"I have no idea, Marty," she shrugged innocently. "Clearly your opinion on this matter is biased," she pointed out. "Sasha Belov is your friend, after all, and Payson is your gymnast.

"You've already ignored your own rules with regards to Payson," she said with a smirk. "You do still have a no-dating rule here at The Rock, Marty? I believe that being in a relationship is grounds for suspension."

"You're being ridiculous," Ryan scoffed. "No coach in their right mind would suspend the World Champion this close to Nationals and the Olympics. She could assault the entire National committee and I'd still want her at my gym."

"I think we need to try and take that out of the equation," Beals insisted. "If this were any other gymnast, that sort of behaviour wouldn't be acceptable. I think that Payson needs to be taught a lesson that being the _World Champion_ doesn't excuse her from the rules that apply to the rest of us."

"This is unreasonable," Marty muttered. "Payson hasn't broken any rules."

"I agree," Ryan said, backing Marty entirely. "These girls are nearly twenty. You can't penalize them for having boyfriends and relationships – which most of them are doing," he added. "Payson's just the only one being open about it."

"Your views are duly noted, Ryan," Beals said condescendingly. "I think we should put it up to a vote.

"All opposed?"

* * *

"Ladies," Beals announced brightly, waiting for the sound to clamour down. They should have known something was wrong when Beals came out looking so happy. "The following six girls will be competing next month in Florida.

"Kaylie Cruz," she began, applauding as Kaylie stepped forwards. "Kelly Parker. Andrea Conway. Lauren Tanner. Emily Kmetko. Tessa Grande.

.

"And Payson Keeler," she finished with a superior smile, "as an alternate."

~ to be continued ~

Dramatic ending much? And thusly this brings us to the end of arc two, which was very much a setting things into position arc.  
There'll be no update next week - partly to give you some time to _absorb _everything and partly because I'm really busy right now and could do with a bit of a breather. Don't worry, it'll only be one week and the next chapter comes with a pretty lengthy bonus/deleted scene/outtake to make up for it.

* * *

**Notes:**

So I'm sure that some of you have noticed that I've temporarily disabled anonymous reviews. I'm kind of expecting backlash from Kaylie and Austin's breakup, and after spending the better part of my weekend raging at dead judges I don't have the patience for shipping-based flames. Shippers, I've noticed, seem to get kind of scary when it comes to KayAus and I'd rather not endure the wrath of anonymous fourteen year olds and have no other recourse aside from yelling at my computer screen. While I totally respect your opinions on ships, I'd like to maintain the right to respond to anything I disagree with.

Sorry for the annoyance.

Gymnastics skills features in this chapter:

Beam

**1.415 **_Aerial walkover fwd to cross stand – approach at end of beam, take off from both feet _(D)  
**6.703 **_Arabian double salto fwd. tucked _(G)  
**6.404 **_Salto bwd stretched with 21⁄2 twist (900°)_ (D) with a potential upgrade to **6.604**

I wanted to turn the Arabian double front into piked saltos, except it's not in the code of points and thus may be physically impossible. For some reason I just seem to think of piked position as fitting more with the artistic dynamic than a tucked salto and I wanted the move to have gone through some sort of development since Sasha's visit. Sadly, it doesn't exist and I really don't think this is the place to be testing the limits of gymnastics moves.

Finally, if there are any references in this chapter to Oregon let me know so I can fix them. I originally had the competition happening on the West coast, but realized that with both teams coming from Europe, the East coast made more sense.

* * *

**Translations:**


	34. London Calling

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – London Calling

_Keeler Residence  
23 April 2012_

"Payson, are you sure it's still a good idea for you to be going on this trip?" Kim asked concernedly as Payson checked her suitcase to make sure nothing had been forgotten. It was Monday evening and Payson was patiently waiting for a car to arrive to take her to Denver airport. "I mean, after what Ellen Beals said to the committee . . ." she trailed off cautiously.

"That's exactly why I need to go on this trip," Payson replied. "Beals told the committee that I wasn't committed to gymnastics, and if I flake out on my sponsors because that bitch" – Kim ignored the use of profanity given who it addressed – "convinced them to name me an alternate, it'll just give more credence to her words."

"I understand that, Payson," Kim insisted. "But you're taking almost a week off from practice. Don't you think they're going to read that badly? Especially so close to a meet."

"It can't be helped," Payson said plainly with a sense of resolve. "We organized this before they added the invitational to the calendar. It's unfortunate, but I can't back out of my commitments."

"Alright, Pay," Kim accepted reluctantly, still looking concerned. She took a heavy breath and continued. "But if you're going to do this, I think we need to talk."

"About what?" Payson frowned.

"About _the talk_," Kim answered uncomfortably.

Payson grimaced as her meaning sunk in. "Mom, this really isn't necessary."

"It is," Kim responded adamantly, her hands on her hips. "If you're going to be _sleeping over_ at your boyfriend's apartment for the next few days, then we need to have this talk."

"No. We don't," Payson said plainly. "It's not like this is the first time I've stayed at Sasha's place. I was there last month. This isn't any different."

"It is," Kim said strongly, although she wouldn't say how. She'd seen the latest pictures of Sasha and Payson from the Saint Petersburg and you didn't need a body language expert – although most of the gossip magazines had one on staff – to read theirs. There was a picture of them kissing in the middle of a restaurant, and even a still shot couldn't disguise the passion in that one kiss. There was a clear change in the relationship and Kim felt it was her duty as a mother to address it.

"You and Sasha have been together for almost half a year now," she offered as her argument.

"It's only been three months," Payson disagreed.

Kim gave her a patronizing smile. "Sweetheart, I prefer to count from November."

"It was December 2nd," Payson said snipely in her own defence. "Nothing counts before December."

"Alright, dear," Kim conceded. "The point is, Pay, that things are obviously getting more serious between you and Sasha.

"That's why we need to have this talk," she reiterated.

"I'd really rather we didn't," Payson groused with a pained look and desperately tried to will her mother to simply drop the conversation.

"Payson, we used to talk to each other about everything," Kim said sadly, playing on good old-fashioned Catholic guilt.

"Yeah. About gymnastics and my friends and . . . everything," Payson agreed. "Not about . . . about _this_."

"Because the opportunity never presented itself," Kim was quick to point out. "I talk to your sister about boys all the time – albeit, just crushes rather than a serious boyfriend.

"You know, honestly, I never thought we'd have to have this conversation," she admitted thoughtfully, "at least not until after the Olympics. I thought boys would come into the equation _after_ you had your gold medal." If the thought of sharing didn't make her so uncomfortable, Payson would have admitted that up until Sasha's appearance, she held a similar belief.

"Payson," Kim said firmly, beginning her speech, "I know that . . . that you and Sasha care about each other, and when you feel close to someone like that . . . you want to do everything you can to make that person happy.

"Even if it doesn't make you happy," she added seriously, placing her hand on top of Payson's. "Despite everything, I don't think Sasha would ever pressure you into something you're not ready for," she admitted, and Payson smiled at the concession, nodding her agreement. "This isn't about him putting pressure on you. This is . . . sex isn't just something you do for someone else. You should want it too, because when two people care about each other and they both want it, then sex is something beautiful and meaningful, but once it's gone, you can't it take back.

"You understand, don't you, Pay?" she asked carefully.

Payson nodded. "You should wait until you're ready, and until you're sure that it's what you really want," Kim said again. "Ideally, you'd be married when it happens," she hinted heavily.

"But I suppose these are different times," she continued with a heavy sigh before adding casually, "It might be years before you and Sasha get married."

"Mom!" Payson protested, her cheeks flushing brilliantly.

"She says like she hasn't thought about it," Kim grinned as her daughter ducked her head into her hands to hide her embarrassment. "I must admit that 'Payson Belov' has a certain ring to it," she continued to tease, lightening things after the rather serious conversation topic. "And Lauren's right about your kids – they'd be gorgeous – and you know your father and I aren't getting any younger."

"Please stop," Payson begged, shaking her head. "I heard it's not physically possible to die of embarrassment, but I don't want to find out."

"Alright, Pay, I'll stop after just one more question," Kim promised.

"Have you picked a date?"

* * *

_Heathrow Airport – London  
24 April 2012_

Payson had _never_ been an alternate – ever. There'd been times when she simply wasn't picked at all and even times when she'd been close to the bottom of selection, but it was always a yes or a no – she was either on the team or not. She wasn't used to this grey area where she had no idea whether she'd be competing next month or sitting on the side lines.

There were media waiting for her at both airports, and while MJ hadn't been responsible for their attendance, she also wasn't going to let Payson rebuff them. A 'no comment' would likely do more harm than good, allowing the media to draw their own conclusions and build it up to something worse than it was. This was simply Beals' retribution for Saint Petersburg, and Payson wouldn't let it faze her.

Her answers were worded carefully: reaffirming her commitment to gymnastics and to her sponsors, gracious praise for the six athletes chosen for Florida, understanding towards the decisions makers, and trust that they knew best. To tell the truth, she hadn't actually wanted to go to the Florida meet and would have said as much to Marty if it hadn't been for the silver debacle. She was already interrupting her training schedule with this trip and an international meet was the last thing she wanted to be doing just three weeks out from Nationals. Being completely overlooked for this event would have been a blessing. Being named an alternate was an annoyance. It disrupted her training – shifting the focus to perfection rather than development – without the benefit or promise of actual competition.

Beals was as cunning as she was vindictive.

**"Payson, do you think this has anything to do with the result of the Pacific Rim Championship?"** a clever sportswriter had the though to ask. She checked his credentials before answering – _Inside Sports_ had just raised themselves ten points in her esteem of them.

MJ gave her a warning look, making it abundantly clear that Payson was by no means to answer that question honestly.

"I hope not," Payson said, deciding that was the most neutral answer she could offer. "The result obviously wasn't what people hoped for, but we still came in second against three of the best women's gymnastics teams in the world. It was still a good result and we worked hard to secure it."

He nodded and opened his mouth to ask a follow up question, but MJ cut in before he could continue. The NGO wanted as little as possible said about the Pacific Rim Championship as possible, and the last thing they wanted to do was give them an actual reason to disapprove of her. MJ brought everything to a close as a small band of airport security ushered them away to their waiting car.

Payson almost jumped for joy when she saw what was waiting for her. There, leaning against the side of a limousine with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking the epitome of nonchalant cool in a white button down shirt and wearing a knowing smirk, was her reward for putting up with mid-flight turbulence, two bands of media, and Ellen Beals' vendetta: Sasha Belov.

"I hope you don't mind," he said charmingly as they approached, "but I took it upon myself to ensure that you got safely to your next destination."

"So you're moonlighting as a valet now?" MJ snorted derisively, shaking her head in annoyance.

Her comment was ignored as Sasha held out his hand towards Payson, who grasped it firmly and allowed him to pull her into his embrace. "Missed you," he murmured quietly, breathing in the scent of her that didn't linger in his apartment quite as long as he'd hoped. "I feel like it's been months rather than weeks."

She hummed in agreement. The feeling was mutual. No matter how often they spoke when they were apart, she couldn't help but miss his physical presence and the way she felt when she was in his arms. It was like the whole world stopped when they were together.

"I don't suppose we could hurry this reunion along at all?" a new voice interrupted. "Sasha? Payson? We do have an appointment to get to."

They both flushed a little at having been caught in such an uncharacteristically sappy moment. Howard laughed, pulling his head back into the open window as the pair finally slipped into the limo.

MJ followed behind, her lip curling in disdain at the seating arrangement – her choices consisted of sitting in the corner near Sasha and Payson who were sitting so close they might as well have been in each others lap, and taking the empty seat beside Howard. "Bryson," she greeted blandly, deciding she'd be better off taking her chances there than next to the sickeningly happy couple opposite.

"Margaret," Howard answered superciliously. Her expression darkened as Howard just smiled back politely.

"I wasn't expecting to see you today, Howard," Payson greeted warmly. "At least not until later."

"Like I could stay away form my favourite Yank," Howard jokingly replied. "You don't know how good it is to see you, Payson. Sasha's been in an awful mood without you."

"I have not," Sasha protested indignantly.

"You have," Howard disagreed. "You told me to 'sod off' when I asked if you wanted to go to one of my 'work outings'."

"I always tell you to 'sod off' when you ask me to go to those things," Sasha replied. "Your _colleagues_ seem to lose all conception of personal boundaries where alcohol is involved," he accused disdainfully.

"My poor baby," Payson cooed, falsely consoling. "Poor little Sasha scared of a little sexual harassment?" she asked him sweetly as she stroked his cheek, slightly fascinated by the feel of the smoothly shaven skin under her fingertips. He didn't usually shave so close unless there was a completion and she'd become accustomed to feeling rough stubble when she ran her hand against his jaw. Neither one was unpleasant – Sasha could pull off both and still look amazingly handsome. He just didn't quite feel like her Sasha without it.

Sasha grinned wickedly back at her, catching her free hand in his own. "It depends who's doing the harassment, _scumpa mea_," he whispered dangerously, lowering his voice so the words wouldn't travel beyond the two of them.

"It's only harassment if you don't want me," she whispered back, the look in his eyes making her a little breathless and disarming her to the point where she forgot to add the words 'to kiss you' to the end of her statement.

"I definitely want you," he responded, leaning in closer, his nose bumping lightly against hers as a prelude to his next course of action. She took a shakey breath, closing her eyes to try and regain her equilibrium, and Sasha chose that moment to close the space between them and press his lips against hers. Despite the preceding conversation, the kiss was simple and chaste. He began to pull away after only a moment or two, until the hand on his cheek slid up behind his neck and held him forcibly in place. Neither party deepened the kiss, merely prolonging the contact and savouring the light pressure against their lips.

"Hmm. I've missed that," she whispered quietly as they eventually pulled away. "And this," she said, leaning into his chest and breathing deeply. "You always smell so good," she declared affectionately.

"I do try to please," he said jokingly. He wrapped his arms around her and curled his fingers into her hair, settling her against him before beginning a more serious discussion. "How are you dealing with everything, Pay?" he asked lowly, wanting to ask the question in person despite having her gentle assurances over the phone.

"Right now, I'm just more annoyed than anything else," she said tiredly. "I can't believe that the committee actually believed all her crap. They actually thought they were doing me a favour.

"And I've probably made it worse by coming here – they'll think that Beals was right about me, but it's not like had a choice," she continued, ranting a little but finally getting it all out. She hadn't wanted to worry her mother with the details and she hadn't wanted to just tell all over the phone to Sasha and then hang up ten minutes later. "I feel like I should have stayed and tried to prove to everyone that I was committed.

"Was I wrong to come here?" she asked him quietly. He could read the uncertainty in her face as she turned her face up towards him, her eyes wide and innocent and desperate need of his assurance.

"Like I could say no when part of it means I get to see you?" he responded gently. "You did what you could to get the best out of these circumstances. You were damned either way, but I think you made the right choice, _dragă_."

"Yeah?" she questioned, tilting her head. "Then why are you frowning?" she pouted.

He kissed her quickly in an attempt to put aside her concerns. "I'm just thinking that . . . the committee think you're spending too much time with me, so maybe it would be better for you to stay at the hotel," he said seriously. "I don't want to make things difficult for you, Payson. If you stay at The Langham it'll make it clear that you're here for business, not pleasure."

"And why can't it be both?" she asked him sweetly, looking at him coyly.

"Forget it," MJ interrupted, clearly having eavesdropped. "It's better for her to stay with you," she said firmly. "We're trying to appeal to a European market. People will think you're either a prude or a liar," MJ said to Payson.

"As far as I'm concerned, Beals played her cards too soon," she continued blandly. "She wants you to see the power she has over the committee, but she can only play the 'teach her a lesson card' once. It won't work when it comes to the Olympics."

Payson looked relieved by MJ's analysis, although Sasha still looked concerned. "We're fine," Payson said, kissing his cheek sweetly. "Let's not let Ellen Beals ruin this, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, pushing any lurking concerns regarding Ellen Beals out of his mind for the time being. He had Payson to himself for the next five days (well nights more than days), and he'd be damned if he let Ellen Beals – or anyone else for that matter – stop him from enjoying that.

* * *

_National Gymnastics Organization Head Office – Tucson, Arizona_

Ellen Beals did not consider herself a vindictive woman. She didn't hold the NGO's choice of head coach against them, although she considered the decision a poor one. And if she was harder on Marty's girls than the others, it certainly wasn't out of spite.

It was only because she had to be.

They certainly weren't getting any discipline from Marty Walsh – they'd proven that time and time again. There was Emily Kmetko, running off behind their backs in Calais and flaunting the rules of her NGO scholarship by having a job, and Kaylie Cruz whose eating disorder wouldn't have gotten so out of hand if Marty had been paying attention, and Lauren Tanner who had obviously never been told 'no' in her life.

And then there was Payson Keeler – a loose cannon if ever Ellen Beals had seen one. Oh sure, she was a good gymnast, but she was risky. She threw the big-ticket moves that could fail just as likely as they could succeed, and while that had proved successful so far for the US team, Ellen Beals knew it was only a matter of time before that strategy failed spectacularly.

And this latest escapade of hers! Well that just proved Ellen Beals had been right about Payson Keeler from the start.

Things couldn't have worked out better if she'd planned it herself. Just a little more than a day after the NGO had made their decision regarding the invitational, Payson Keeler was jet-setting off to London, hammering in the final nail in her coffin. The scandal – the American golden girl _living in sin_ with the British bad boy – would be more than enough to bring professional ruin.

Payson Keeler was as reckless with her career as she was with her gymnastics. Sasha Belov was clearly not an appropriate choice of partner – especially not for the American gymnastics champion and the countries best chance at gold. Payson was putting her own career in jeopardy by involving herself with that man, as well as the fate of the US team. Her selfishness and lack of consideration knew no bounds.

But Ellen Beals was a patient woman and a patriotic woman. And as many chances as she had given Payson Keeler, she would give her one more and help her to see sense – to see how the consequences of her actions could affect more than just herself.

~ to be continued ~

Well, my plan to be super-productive for two weeks failed, but oh well. I'm still back and the "bonus" will be up on LJ in a couple of days once I have formatted it to satisfaction.

It think this chapter marks one of the scariest places I have ever had to be for the sake of my writing - Ellen Beals' head. I still shudder at the thought.

The next three chapters are all London-based fluff. Because that's what you get when bad stuff happens. But I swear there's some plot development in there too. I think.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

_scumpa mea: _my darling


	35. Domestic Bliss

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Domestic Bliss

_Sasha's Apartment  
26 April 2012_

Sasha was thoroughly absorbed in an episode of _Doctor Who_ when a bark from Rassilon and her clipped nails racing across the floor alerted him to the fact that his houseguest was back from another gruelling day of media commitments. He moved quickly out of his seat, making his way to the door as Payson slipped in wearing a flowing black cocktail dress and crouching to greet Rassilon as she entered.

"Today was long," she sighed as he pulled her into a warm hug. "I'm so glad to be home," she said tiredly.

Sasha smiled, a pleasant warmth filling his insides at the unintentional slip. He didn't typically think of his apartment as a 'home', but with Payson there, it felt like one. There were little touches throughout his apartment that indicated where Payson had been – including a plate of cookies he'd found sitting on his kitchen counter when he arrived back after training – that gave it that homey feel. There was something welcoming about the extra female presence that relieved some of the stark, impersonal masculinity of his living space.

He kissed her forehead sympathetically. "Dinner's almost ready, so just sit down and relax," he told her as he led her to a seat at the kitchen table.

"You cooked?" she questioned eagerly, sighing in relief as she sat down. She petted Rassilon on the head absentmindedly, the gesture relaxing her after her long day.

He shook his head. "I only know how to make three things well enough for your consumption, and you've already tried two of them," he told her. "I have to save something for later," he winked.

She laughed and stood up to join him in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around him from behind and leaning into him, resting her cheek between his shoulders. "So what are our plans for this evening?" she asked curiously.

"Well, there's a Doctor Who marathon on," he suggested hopefully, turning around and loosely draping his arms around her waist.

Payson frowned and crinkled her nose in disapproval. "There always seems to be a Doctor Who marathon on," she complained. "Do they have that many episodes that it takes them months to go through them all?"

"They have a channel," Sasha shrugged in reply. She grimaced at the thought.

"Sasha, I know it's good for couples to share common interests," she told him seriously with a small grimace, "but we don't have to share this one.

"I've just never really been into sci-fi," she told him consolingly.

He met her gaze, trying to convince her with his most pitiful look. In doing so, he suddenly became aware of the fact that she nearly reached his nose, which was pretty impressive as she only reached his chest in flats. "What kind of monstrosities are you wearing, Payson?" he asked, forgetting his aim for the moment to examine her Gaga-esque, high-platform shoes.

She followed his gaze to the black pumps with a concealed platform and cherry-red six-inch heels on her feet. "What's wrong with them?" she frowned and tilted her foot for inspection.

"Nothing," he replied as a victorious gleam filled his eyes, kissing her cheek. "You look lovely, _dragă_. But I bet your feet are killing you."

That much was obvious. "So?" she asked slowly, giving him an incredulous look.

"So," he grinned boyishly, "how about I give you a foot massage?

"But," he added before she could take him up on the offer, "you have to watch Doctor Who with me."

"You won't give up, will you?" she laughed, shaking her head at how incorrigible he was.

"No," he said, giving her a pitiful look. "I promise you'll like this one," he added. "It's the new episodes. They have mass appeal."

"So you're admitting that a man wearing celery does not?" she asked him pointedly.

"In some respects," he conceded. "Didn't I tell you to sit?" he asked her pushily, changing topic abruptly. "And take off those things before you kill yourself."

"Yes, Sasha," she chorused indulgently. She kissed him sweetly on the cheek and hobbled back to her seat, gingerly removing the insanely high heels from her feet.

"Done," Sasha cheered as the oven buzzed. He switched it off and removed two foil-covered dishes, placing them on the counter and pealing back the foil to check that everything was as it should be. He smiled and brought them over to the table. "_Viola, ma chérie,_" he grinned in a ridiculous French accent, bussing her cheek. "_Bon appétit."_

"It looks delicious," she said, practically salivating at the plate of French-style vegetables and seared chicken breast. "My compliments to the chef, whoever he may be."

Sasha coughed pointedly.

"And the phone dialler/food heater upper-er," she laughed, leaning towards him.

"You're welcome," Sasha answered, kissing her lips. He smiled as they dug into their dishes, giving her a few moments to settle before he asked about her day. She'd started more than twelve hours ago with several interviews that weren't nearly as fun by herself, then two TV commercials (one of them for French Connection and the other a Stella Artois campaign she thought she turned down in January), a magazine spread for Marie Claire that would appear in both Europe and the US, two print campaigns to finish her off, and a TV interview for the BBC. MJ had forced as much as she could into twelve hours.

"Victoria Pendleton says 'hi', by the way," she noted breezily, waiting for him to explain the connection.

He laughed and shook his head, finding her mild jealousy rather adorable. "Marty's conquest, not mine," he assured her. "And Howard's. You know what cyclists are like."

"No, but I'm intrigued," she laughed and leaned towards him inquiringly. "Do you think I could use it as blackmail material?"

"You, _iubită_, are too wholesome for blackmail," he chuckled. "What?" he asked as she beamed back at him shyly with a sweet smile.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Are you done?" she asked and reached for his plate.

He waved her off, standing and taking her plate. "I'll do that, _dragă_," he said warmly. "Stay," he added, before she could follow him to the kitchen. To his amusement, Rassilon froze in her own attempts to follow him. "Good dog."

"Did you want anything to drink?" he asked once he'd put the dishes in the machine and given Rassilon her dinner.

"Do you have any of that nice lemon tea?" she replied, resigning herself to the fact that Sasha wasn't going to let her do anything for herself. As frustrating as that could be, she liked being taken care of by Sasha so long as he didn't try to do it all the time.

"I do," he smiled back. He'd made sure to have some on hand in readiness for her visit. "Here you go, _dragă_," he said as he placed the cup of steaming team down in front of her a few minutes later.

She drew him in, kissing him soundly as a reward for his thoughtfulness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and left her tea to cool for the time being while she properly enjoyed having their mouths meet heatedly between them. At least she did until Sasha suddenly scooped her into his arms, causing her to yelp in surprise as he hauled her through to the lounge and deposited her gently on the couch.

He laughed at her put out expression and headed back for their drinks. "A little warning would have been nice," she called darkly at her beau, glaring at his broad shoulders as he threw back his head in a deep laugh.

"Come here, Rassie," she tutted. The collie immediately gave up her lingering hope that Sasha might be getting her more food from the kitchen and trotted over to Payson. She hopped onto the couch next to Payson, curling up in the corner.

"And where am I supposed to sit, ladies?" Sasha groused as he returned with their drinks. Rassilon tilted her head at him, almost as though she understood him perfectly, as Payson lifted her feet in response. He sighed and took the empty seat between them, letting Payson prop her feet up on his knees.

"Don't forget our deal," she warned him with a serious expression. She wriggled her toes emphatically as he un-paused what he was watching earlier.

"Yes, dear," he replied. He ran a finger lightly along the arch of her foot, which made her pull away with a giggle and then try to jab him with her toes. He caught her foot in his hand and began to properly massage her feet, helping her relax after a long day of work.

"Well?" he asked a couple of hours later after they'd been through two and a half episodes and the opening was playing for the next.

"It's not so bad," Payson conceded. "Explain to me the bit about regeneration," she said, shifting around so she could look at him directly. "I don't understand what happened to the last guy."

"Right, so when a Time Lord is close to death he can transform into a new physical form to stop himself from dying. He completely changes his genetics and personality and it's like he's a new man," Sasha explained, pausing the programme once again. "It's just a really convenient way of explaining things when they want to hire a new actor."

"That's pretty clever," Payson complimented. "I suppose I don't mind it," she said giving her opinion on his favourite show, "but I think I've had my fill tonight, my handsome dork," she finished affectionately. She crawled towards him on her knees and lay her head pitifully against his shoulder, with a pleading expression that could rival his own. "Sleep now?" she asked him in a small, child-like voice.

Sasha smiled fondly and brushed his fingers lovingly against her cheek. He was suddenly struck by how lucky he was to have her – to have someone who would watch Doctor Who with him even though she hated sci-fi (though she never said it aloud, so he pretended not to know) and left cookies on his bench top so he knew she was thinking of him. And he would indulge her in his own way – learning (or rather trying to learn) to cook a few extra things so she wouldn't go hungry on his watch and exploring England like a tourist because he knew how much she loved doing so.

She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and called his name to bring him back to her. "What are you thinking?" she asked him curiously, tilting her head.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Just that . . . how happy I am to have met you, Payson."

She smiled endearingly, but crinkled her nose at his phrasing. "I don't suppose you could say that in a way that doesn't sound like you're dying?" she suggested impishly.

Repeating the words back to himself, he could see her point. "You always do this to me, _dragă_," he complained lightly. "I used to be good at this," he assured her.

"Maybe," she answered sceptically. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly. "I'm glad we found each other," she whispered, shyly sharing his sentiment. She ducked her head into his chest and spoke so quietly that he doubted he would have heard her words if they hadn't been so close. "You are the best thing I've ever known, Alexandru."

His heart sped at the words and he felt three words on the tip of his tongue desperate to be said. But he couldn't, not yet. He wasn't even sure of his own feelings – if he even felt what he'd come so close to saying – let alone hers. She was still so young in some ways and they'd only been dating for a few months.

So for those reasons, and many others, he didn't say it. Instead he kissed her fiercely, angling his mouth against hers and pushing his tongue past her lips. A hand slid down her side, tracing the sweeping contours of her body from chest to thigh, and then back up again, her skirt slipping up just a little bit further each time. He dominated the kiss, leaning over her until she was pressed into the couch beneath him, sighing contentedly as he worked his lips against the delicate column of her neck.

"Sasha," she sighed as one of his hands slipped past the hem of her dress and clutched at her hip. Her hands pressed to his chest, seeming torn between clenching into his shirt and pushing him away. "Sasha, wait," she said, pressing against him more insistently.

He froze instantly, fear and concern in his expression as he lifted his eyes towards her. "I'm sorry, I – "

"Not like that," she assured him quickly, shaking her head. She touched his cheek gently to reassure him that he hadn't overstepped any lines or boundaries. They were still in a relatively safe zone.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Sasha," she said, catching her lip between her teeth and looking very contrite, "but I really do need to go to bed.

"I'm sorry," she added. "I just don't want to be falling asleep on you."

"You're adorable, Payson," he chuckled, kissing her lightly to show that he wasn't upset at her for putting a stop to things. He moved off her so that she could sit up and offered his hand. "To bed, _iubită_," he said as he pulled her to her feet. He led her upstairs to the master bedroom where they were both sleeping.

For a moment, Payson wondered if her mother was right to insist on having 'the talk' before she left. Things were very different from how they'd been in March when she came to London for Sasha's birthday. In March she had slept in the bedroom next door and things hadn't progressed much further physically beyond what had occurred downstairs just moments earlier. Things had changed significantly since Saint Petersburg, and while she was still a long way from being ready for sex, it wasn't quite as distant as it used to be, and there were a lot of things that she _was_ ready for and wanted to indulge in.

Sasha excused himself to the shower, allowing her to ponder these thoughts in peace as she got herself ready for bed. It was probably better that she had something to engage herself with, as otherwise she probably would have let herself dwell on the fact that Sasha was in the room next door _showering_ and all that that entailed.

She changed into her bedclothes and sat brushing her hair as she waited for Sasha to finish. It was another of her comfortable/sensible pyjama choices – a cheesy tank with matching long shorts – not exactly the sexy attire she supposed her friends wore to bed with their boyfriends.

"Duly noted," Sasha laughed as he read the slogan emblazoned across her chest: spooning leads to forking.

"Oh geez," she sighed, crossing her arms to cover it and ducking her head. "I need to get some less stupid pyjamas."

"I like your pyjamas, Pay," he protested. He slipped into bed beside her and nestled her against his side. "They suit you."

"Thanks," she frowned, not entirely sure it was a compliment.

He kissed her forehead and smiled. "_Eşti adorabil, frumoasă fata mea_," he insisted once again, adding a new adjective to the endearing phrase he often used to refer to her. _"Noapte bună, iubită. Vise plăcute._"

"Goodnight, _drăguţ_," she replied, pressing her lips briefly against his. Adding in her mind the words she hadn't felt sure enough to say earlier.

_I love you._

~ to be continued ~

Completely and utterly fluffy. I won't deny it. There is as little substance to this chapter as candy floss, but I still love it and I'm pretty sure most of you will too despite the lack of any plot momentum.

* * *

**Notes:**

The celery man, for those who weren't brought up on Doctor Who, refers to The Doctor's Fifth incarnation who was played by Peter Davison. In my mind they started with the end of "The Parting of Ways" and finished with "New Earth", so Nine to Ten. It's okay if none of that made sense.

* * *

**Translations:**

_**French:**  
__Viola, ma chérie. __Bon appétit: _Here it is, my dear. Enjoy your meal.

**_Romanian:_**  
_Iubită: _My love/beloved (obviously Payson worked that one out herself)  
___Eşti adorabil, frumoasă fata mea: _You are adorable, my beautiful girl  
___Noapte bună, iubită. Vise plăcute:_ Good night, my love. Sweet Dreams.  
_____Drăguţ: _Darling m.


	36. Going to See the Great Bard

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Going to See the Great Bard

_Nikolai's Gym – Docklands, London  
27 April 2012_

After a gruelling six hours of interviews and photo shoots Payson was finally granted her shore leave – a whole twenty-four hours she was allowed to spend with Sasha and no one else. Finally some genuine quality time. Just a solid day of her and Sasha doing whatever they wanted.

She made her way to Nikolai's gym after stopping by Sasha's place to grab her bags and say goodbye to Rassilon. Sasha, Nikolai, and Howard were all engaged in a very serious looking conversation by the still rings – probably a disagreement over some risky element Sasha wanted to add to one of his routines – when she arrived and didn't even look up to see who had invaded their space. She stayed silent, smiling in amusement as she waited for them to finish, wondering who would notice her first.

Nikolai shook his head and muttered something in Russian, throwing up his hands in frustration as both Howard and Sasha tried to convince him of their own view on the subject. _"Vy reshaete,"_ he muttered with a flick of his wrist, turning away from his two gymnasts, who suddenly looked like chastised prepubescent boys under his fierce gaze.

"Payson!" he greeted fondly in a broad, Eastern block accent as he hobbled over towards her, leaning heavily on his cane. He greeted her in typical European fashion, kissing her noisily on each cheek and wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug.

"Sasha did not say you were coming by," he said, frowning a little at her surprise visit.

"Probably so he could sneak out without you noticing," Payson laughed, guessing her boyfriend's motives. "I don't suppose he told you he was leaving early today either."

"No he did not," Nikolai agreed, raising his voice so Sasha would hear him. He raised a bushy white eyebrow at his charge and Sasha gulped conspicuously, looking even more the prepubescent boy from her analogy. Nikolai wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and began to guide her slowly across the gym. "You have plans, yes?"

Payson nodded, putting her arm around Nikolai in return. She liked Sasha's coach – he always reminded her of Santa Claus with his bushy white eyebrows, bulbous nose, and snowy beard, although he was still very fit for a man in his sixties. Nikolai was always warm and friendly, and immediately welcomed her into the charmed circle consisting of himself and his two boys.

"We're going to Stratford-upon-Avon," she told the old man excitedly, smiling brightly.

"You will see Shakespeare then?" he asked her.

"Yeah, although Sasha won't say what we're seeing."

Nikolai stopped suddenly and gave her a serious look. "Sasha will be sad to see you go."

Payson nodded her agreement. "Me too," she said with a sad smile. "I'll miss you too, Nikolai."

Nikolai chuckled loudly, a loud boisterous laugh full of life and youth. "You are too kind to old man," he said warmly, struggling a little after his laughter. He paused to catch his breath and continued. "I am thinking you will be too busy missing of Sasha to be thinking anyone else," he told her with a knowing glint in his eyes. He smiled and kissed her forehead in a fatherly way.

"Are we doing the goodbyes here?" Howard asked as he and Sasha approached them.

"Unless you want to meet us at Heathrow tomorrow at five," Payson shrugged.

Howard stroked his chin thoughtfully as he considered his options. "I think I could just about swing it, but I shouldn't take my chances," he smiled as he opened his arms in an exaggerated gesture. "Come here, girlee."

With a laugh, Payson let herself be caught in Howard's overly exuberant bear hug. She yelped as he easily lifted her off her feet, letting her feet hang limply in the air for a few moments before settling her back down.

Sasha couldn't resist the warm smile that overcame his features. It made him happy to see her getting along with the important people in his life; to see her effortlessly charm her way into the hearts of his coach, his best friend, his surrogate aunt, and even his dog. He doubted anyone would be able to resist her friendly smiles and straightforward charm – even he had fallen prey to it in the worst possible way.

"All yours, Sasha," Howard laughed as he released Payson from the playful embrace.

Obligingly, Sasha pulled Payson towards him and gently looped his arms around her waist. "You got everything, _dragă_?" he drawled.

"Yes," she agreed, "Although knowing what we're going to see would help me pack more appropriately," she added playfully, looking terribly seriously.

He grinned, shaking his head at incorrigible wheedling. This made her pout in response, which in turn made him laugh at her sulkiness and kiss her placatingly on the lips.

"Not a chance, _pisicuţă_," he told her firmly. "How exactly does knowing the play help you pack?"

She shrugged innocently. "Black for a tragedy. Green for a comedy," she suggested brightly. "I have no idea what dress to wear."

"You can wear the black one," he said, nodding goodbye to Nikolai and Howard as he began to lead her out to the reception to grab her bags, and then out back to the parking lot.

Payson laughed as he herded her towards a sleek silver Aston Martin. "You're taking this 'James Bond of Gymnastics' thing way too seriously," she teased him.

"So who does that make you?" he grinned back wickedly. He moved ahead of her and opened the passenger door, earning himself a coy smile for the gallant behaviour.

"I want to say Pussy Galore, but that'll just give you ideas," she said as she settled in her seat, giving him a knowing look and almost daring him to make the obvious joke.

"I wouldn't dare presume to have ideas, _scumpa mea_," he grinned back at her. He leaned into the car and kissed her longingly on the lips, holding his hand against her cheek. "Not unless you wanted me to," he added with a teasing wink.

She rolled her eyes in an affected way, but smiled as he made his way around the car to drivers seat. "So how long before we get to Stratford-upon-Avon?" she asked, making a small catlike stretch in her seat that Sasha fully appreciated.

"A little over two hours."

Payson grimaced a little. The car revved into life with a dramatic growl and Sasha manoeuvred the car into the street. There was a comfortable silence in the car aside from the low hum of whatever music was playing in the background and the occasional rev of the engine as Sasha changed gears.

"Nikolai's looking really good," she said at one point, drawing him into conversation.

"He is," Sasha agreed, briefly glancing from the road so he could send her a small smile.

"I'm trying to imagine what he must have been like when you were younger," she said lightly. "I don't think much has changed," she added. "You and Howard still act like little boys around him."

He chuckled softly. "You're probably right," he said. "He's still tough as nails and right on my case."

"What were you three talking about when I came in?" she asked him, looking out the window as the passing scenery slowly began to change from busy metropolis to quiet suburbia.

"Just some changes to my rings routine," Sasha said vaguely. "I've been trying something since Saint Petersburg, but Nikolai thinks it's too risky. Howard reckoned I was doing it wrong," he said, smiling a little at Howard's need to weigh in on the routine when he hadn't done gymnastics in close to ten years.

"Do you need to change it that much?" She turned her attention to him, tilting her head curiously as she asked the question. "You had a pretty good margin at Worlds."

"Yeah, but they've all had time to up their DOD. Fyodor Semyonov's DOD is as high as mine now," he told her.

"You're better than Fyodor Semyonov," she said without missing a beat. Her hand fell on top of his, fingers gently squeezing his knuckles. "I know you'll win."

He lifted her hands to his lips and murmured a grateful, _"Mulţumesc, iubită_," and simply let her faith wash over him.

* * *

_Kings Lane A46 – Warwickshire_

"Um . . . Sasha?" Payson asked cautiously. "I think we passed the turnoff."

Sasha just smirked. "I do know where I'm going, _dragă_," he told her and smiled silently to himself as they turned towards the large stately manor in the heart of Warwickshire.

There was a sharp intake of breath beside him as Payson gazed at the building that looked as though it had been imagined right out of a Jane Austen novel. It was a rustic tan, brick building with peeked steeples and stain glass windows and tall chimneys. Of course, it was the gardens that made him choose it – the expansive green lawns with topiary and mazes and all sorts of tiny details that he knew that Payson would adore.

"Oh wow," she gaped as they drove up the tree-lined drive towards the house. "Is this where we're staying?"

"It is," he grinned, internally congratulating himself for the awed look in her eyes. "You like it?"

"Sasha, it's perfect," she sighed. She leaned over the gearstick and kissed him lovingly on the cheek. "I couldn't have dreamed it more perfect."

"Mr Belov," the hotel manager greeted as they exited his car. "Everything you asked for is ready," he said. "If you'll just follow me, I'll have one of my staff bring your luggage to the room."

Sasha nodded his thanks as the man gestured for them to follow. "_Iubit__ă_?" he asked as he offered his arm to Payson. Laughingly she wrapped her arms around his forearm and fitted herself snuggly into his side.

They slowly followed the manager around the side of the manor, taking in the authentic period details, as they made their way to Billesley Manor's famous topiary gardens.

"This is beautiful," she gasped excitedly. Her eyes were shimmering as she took in the details and the cast iron table set up in the loveliest part of the garden. "Oh, Sasha," she sighed and pulled him closer, kissing him passionately.

"You're welcome," he grinned smugly at her as they pulled apart slightly. Within moments, he drew her in for another kiss, dominating this time as he possessed her lips and engaged her in a fierce battle he was bound to win. It was only an awkward cough from the hotel manager that caused him to pull his mouth form hers, and otherwise he would have been perfectly happy to engage himself in this way for the rest of the day.

"Will that be all, Mr Belov?" the hotel manager asked with a knowing look.

Sasha nodded, looking slightly sheepish. "Could I get you to send someone out around half-past six?" he asked. "I don't want to lose track of time and miss the show."

"Of course, Mr Belov," the manager nodded and went on his way.

"I can't believe you did all this," Payson sighed happily as Sasha led her to the small table. He gallantly pulled out the chair for her and she smiled up at him as she took her seat. "You really didn't have to, Sasha," she said as he took the seat opposite her and began uncovering the dishes laid on the table.

"I did," he disagreed. "You had a crappy weekend so I'm making up for it. I've got the next twenty-four hours all planned out."

Her expression softened and she reached across the table to catch his hand in her own. She could see he still felt guilty over what she'd been through with Beals, despite her assurance that it was in no way his fault. Beals was the only person to blame, and if that blasted woman wanted to use her relationship with Sasha against her, then Sasha certainly couldn't be held to fault for that when she was as a much a part of the relationship as he was.

"That's sweet, Sasha, but completely unnecessary," she told him gently, squeezing his hand and smiling understandingly. "Just being here with you is all I need," she assured him sincerely as she entwined their fingers.

He smiled back, lifting her hand solemnly to his lips before releasing it so they could attack their meals with gusto. He'd wheedled a list of Payson's favourite foods out of Becca while they were in Saint Petersburg and now put them to good use. The time passed quicker than either of them expected, and soon enough they were interrupted by a staff-member before they even had the chance to explore the garden.

They were led to their hotel room – a historical suite done in rich colours with a four-post bed draped with red fabric. Payson stole away to the bedroom to change into her dress, leaving Sasha the lounge area.

"Sasha, does tonight involve much walking?" she asked nearly half an hour later as Sasha thoughtfully considered his choice of tie for the evening.

He chuckled lowly in amusement, shaking his head. "Let's see them then," he sighed dramatically, draping the two ties over the back of the chair before standing and approaching the door. He crossed his arms over his chest, being sure to look formidable and imposing when she ducked her head through the doorway.

"See what?" she asked innocently, using the door to shield the rest of her.

"The death traps that you call shoes, _pisicuţă_," he said drolly. She pouted at his description, which only made him want to laugh all the more.

"They're not 'death traps'," she insisted as she stepped out of the bedroom in a dress that took his breath away. She held a pair of paten leather heels delicately in her hands. "They're just my favourites so I don't . . . what?" she asked as she met his stunned gaze.

"Nothing," he said gently, shaking himself out of his daze. "I just . . . I think you just made a liar out of me."

She tilted her head in confusion, the golden curls falling over her shoulder as she moved her head. Her dress was navy blue – not black as he'd suggested earlier – with organza and chiffon tiered over a knee-length pencil skirt. It was strapless, but for the organza layered over the bodice to create an illusionary V-neck.

"_Nu am văzut niciodată altceva, sau altcineva, mai frumos_," he said, repeating the words he'd said to her on their first (albeit unofficial) date. "It means you are the most beautiful thing I have or ever will see," he translated, paraphrasing to some extent. "You make me a liar every time I see you, Payson," he finished lowly.

She flushed, dipping her head away in embarrassment and trying to hid the goofy grin pulling on her lips. "So . . . the shoes . . ." she began awkwardly, trying to divert his attention away from her.

"_Frumoasa NUBUN mea fată,"_ he said with exaggerated exasperation, kissing her sweetly on the nose. "I'll just have to carry you."

* * *

_Royal Shakespeare Theatre – Stratford-upon-Avon_

"_I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee_," the dark skinned man on stage pronounced dramatically, holding a hand to the wound he had inflicted upon himself moments earlier. _"No way but this;/Killing myself, to die upon a kiss_." He fell upon the bed, dying beside his already fallen wife.

Payson took a sharp intake of breath, holding one hand to her mouth while the other was clasped in Sasha's. The other actors turned upon the man playing Iago, denouncing his behaviour and giving a final speech to restore order before the curtain fell on the performance. She cheered and clapped enthusiastically with the rest of the audience, even shouting a well-deserved 'bravo' as the actor playing Iago stepped forward and bowed towards the audience.

Sasha laughed a little at her enthusiasm, but he was glad to see that she'd enjoyed herself. _Othello_ wasn't quite your typical 'date movie' (for lack of a better word), and he was sure that _A Midsummer Nights Dream_, which was playing in the other theatre, would have been a more appropriate choice. He'd gone with _Othello_ because he'd studied the play about ten years ago in order to get his A-levels and had skimmed over his old English notes when Payson wasn't around so he could make insightful comments about the characters and their motivations.

They stayed talking about the play while the rest of the theatregoers made their way out. A good portion of the conversation was taken up with a discussion of Iago who Sasha described as "mindlessly malignant", stealing the phrase from one of his English essays.

"I think at one point he might have had a reason," Payson said thoughtfully, considering Iago's motives, "but in the end he just lost sight of everything else."

"And what do you think that reason is?" he asked, genuinely interested in Payson's views on the character whose purpose had been beguiling great minds for centuries.

"I think love maybe," she said, curling a finger into her hair as she spoke. "Not for Desdemona like he claims. For Othello."

"So you think he was gay?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her, a little surprised that she'd gone for the obvious answer.

"Not like that," she said, swatting at his shoulder. "That's too simplistic."

She shifted in her seat, curling one leg underneath herself so she could face Sasha directly. "It's like . . . they're all teammates, right?" she began, waiting for him to nod his understanding before she continued. Her hands fluttered around animatedly as she spoke, the way they did whenever she was really passionate about something. "So they're all working together to the same goal in this intense environment where nobody else understands them but each other," she said, drawing an analogy to her own team and friends. "It's more than just friendship – it's a sort of love, but not romantic love. Just love."

Sasha nodded his head, seeming to follow her explanation. It was the sort of 'love' he had for his coach, and Aurel and Howard, and even for Marty at some point in his life. They weren't just his closest friends, they were his teammates and the bond they had was something he'd never been able to put into words before now.

"So Iago loves Othello," she continued now that she had explained what she meant by that. "But then Othello spurns that love by choosing Cassio as his second and by not confiding in him about marrying Desdemona. I think that's his reason."

"So what would you say to the motives that Iago himself offers?" Sasha challenged. "Racism. Sexual jealousy. Simple bitterness."

"Love," she said again. "He loves Othello too much to admit the real reason, even to himself."

"So he redirects it to a safer outlet?" Sasha suggested. "Like a defence mechanism."

"I think so," she agreed. "And maybe to . . . depersonalize it? He makes it about the job and Emilia instead of making it about him. I think that's easier to face.

"What did you think?" she asked, realizing she'd been monopolizing the conversation to some degree.

"I think he gets caught up in the game," Sasha answered her. "I don't think there was ever a big over arching motive, although I do like your explanation, _dragă_," he said, acknowledging her thoughts on the matter. "I think he likes the manipulation too much – all that power just goes to his head. It starts with Roderigo, but that loses its shine because Roderigo is so naïve and too easy a pawn, so he moves on to Cassio, and then Othello who becomes his greatest triumph."

"But why did he start with Roderigo in the first place?" she challenged thoughtfully.

"A whim," he shrugged. "Maybe a reaction to not getting the position he wanted, which would have allowed him to express the manipulative, controlling tendencies in a safe and acceptable way.

"Maybe he doesn't need a reason.

"Maybe we just _need _him to have a reason to make ourselves feel better," he suggested, the conversation becoming increasingly existential. "Because we can't accept the fact that evil can exist without motive."

"Says the man who doesn't believe in god," she teased affectionately.

He shrugged his reply. "I believe in something. I just don't think that it's as interested in us as people think."

Payson laughed at his brazen response, not in the least shocked by the flippant manner in which he spoke about topics like religion and good and evil. "I suppose we should go before the ushers . . . uh usher us out," she suggested, cringing at the awkward pun.

"You're probably right," Sasha agreed. He stood first and then helped her out of her seat. They smiled apologetically at the usher waiting at the door for them to leave.

"Sasha?" Payson asked cautiously, stopping them in the middle of the empty hall before they reached the lobby.

"Hmm?" he replied, turning to face her.

She lowered her head and glanced up at him through her lashes, her expression coy. "Thank you for tonight," she said softly. She laid a hand on his shoulder and closed the space between them, pressing her lips firmly to his in a kiss that expressed her gratitude and enjoyment. In response, his arms snaked around her waist, holding her close to him as their mouths fused together and let themselves enjoy one of the few moments they had completely to themselves.

Eventually they separated and Payson giggled as she wiped at the pink smudge of lipgloss staining his lower lip.

"C'mon,_ dragă_," he said, offering his arm, "The night has only just begun."

~ to be continued ~

This one was a mixture of fluff and setting up a few things for later on. And some foreshadowing. Gotta love foreshadowing.

* * *

**Notes:**

The dress and location are in the LJ version.

Payson's view of Iago's motives is one of my favourite explanations for Iago's motives, although it's been so long since I studied Othello that I can't actually remember who to reference for it. Of course, Sasha's reasoning is good too. On an additional note, Matt Minto is an amazing Iago and completely under appreciated.

* * *

**Translations:**

_**Phonetic Russian:**  
Vy rashaete: _You decide.

**Romanian:**  
_Iubită:_My love/beloved  
___pisicuţă: _Kitten/little cat  
___Frumoasa NUBUN mea fată: _My beautiful CRAZY girl


	37. Home Is Where the Heart Is

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Home Is Where the Heart Is

_Cruz Residence – Boulder Colorado  
28 April 2012_

"You know Payson gets back tonight," Lauren noted casually as she flicked lazily through one of Kaylie's magazines. She hid her smile as she came across a photo of Payson and Sasha – those two were seriously too cute for words, but she doubted that Kaylie would appreciate the sentiment.

"So?" Kaylie asked indifferently, barely looking up from her own magazine.

"Nothing, Kay," Lauren shrugged. "Just . . . I guess things are going to be tense now she's back."

"Why?" Kaylie replied, favouring one-word answers over anything more substantial.

"Well, come on," Lauren said, alluding to the obvious. "I mean, the rest of us all get picked for the invitational, and Payson's the alternate? It couldn't get more uncomfortable. Especially because we all know Payson should be on that team."

Kaylie's features tightened and she shut her magazine pointedly. "We don't know that," she said sourly. "Obviously the committee had their reasons."

"Not good ones," Lauren scoffed.

"Look, Kay, I know we totally hate Payson right now," Lauren continued, carefully stating her loyalties, "but we both know that Payson didn't deserve to be named an alternate.

"Now Kmetko . . ." she said, trailing off vaguely. It was a reminder of Emily's early days at The Rock when Lauren had been her worst critic, and earned her a small smile from Kaylie.

"Whatever the case, she screwed up by going to England," Kaylie said, flipping her magazine open once again. It was the photo shoot they'd done with **_People_**_ before_ everyone found out about Payson and Sasha – while Kaylie was still the star and personality behind the US team and Payson was just the girl that could be counted on to win them a medal.

"I would have stayed and shown them they were wrong," Kaylie continued with a bite to her words. "I wouldn't have just taken off to the other side of the world."

"Really?" Lauren asked dubiously. "Not even to see Austin."

"Can we not talk about Austin?" Kaylie asked with a pained smile.

Lauren rolled her eyes. "What's with you two, anyway?" she asked, ignoring Kaylie's requested. "You've been avoiding each other like the plague all week."

"We broke up," Kaylie announced tightly. "Now can we _please_ not talk about it?" she practically begged, her expression pleading.

"No," Lauren replied, shutting both their magazines. There was no way she was letting this go, certainly not something as big as this. If Kaylie wanted her support in this, then she was going to have to share her story.

"What happened, Kay?" she asked gently, gripping her best friend's hand lightly.

"We broke up," Kaylie said as casually as she could. "It just made sense," she shrugged. "Boyfriends are toxic for your career. I mean, just look at Payson. She went from being the best gymnast in the world to being named an alternate."

Lauren was stunned by Kaylie's logic, but there was little she could say against it. She'd been in Saint Petersburg after all, and she'd heard exactly what Ellen Beals had to say to Payson after the loss. It had been cruel and uncalled for and it said almost exactly what Kaylie was saying now. "You're not seriously believing that," she protested weakly.

"Payson's the one that said it," Kaylie retorted. "Boyfriends are just distractions and we're better off leaving that sort of thing until after the Olympics."

"What? So you're taking advice from a sixteen year old P Keeler now?" Lauren asked sarcastically. "Payson got made an alternate because Ellen Beals is a bitch, not because dating Sasha made her a bad gymnast," she argued.

"Whatever," Kaylie shrugged. She stole back her magazine and began lazily flipping through it as Lauren gave her a cold stare, just waiting for her to give in to feeling of eyes upon her.

"Lo, I know you're all 'Team Sasha', but Payson screwed up," she said harshly, finally meeting Lauren's gaze. "She screwed up because of Sasha, and instead of fixing that right now like any normal person would, she's spending all her time with Sasha focusing on her image instead of her gymnastics.

"Now can we please just drop it?" she asked, wanting to be done with the topic of Payson and Sasha now that she'd said her peace.

"Sure," Lauren reluctantly conceded with a weak smile. "Do you think I should wear my hair like this for the invitational?" she asked, forcing a topic change by flashing a picture of an elaborate up-do in Kaylie's direction.

"Don't you think it's a bit much for Florida?" she asked superciliously.

"We're competing against France and Italy," Lauren pointed out. "That's like the two fashion capitals of the world. I bet their hair is gorgeous."

"Well then," Kaylie said, flipping quickly through her magazine, "I think something like this will be just what you're after."

* * *

_Keeler Residence_

It was nearly midnight by the time MJ's town car finally pulled up outside Payson's house. The house was dark, with only the porch light and dim glow from the kitchen indicating that anyone was still awake.

MJ waved for the driver to go see to Payson's bags, leaving the two of them alone for a few moments to talk privately. The serious expression on MJ's face surprised Payson a little, and she could only think of one other time when she'd seen her agent looking so pensive.

"Payson, I want you to call me if anything happens," MJ said in her clipped, cockney accent. "No matter how small it seems I want to hear about it.

"That Beals woman obviously has some sort of vendetta against you and I don't want you giving her any fuel, no matter how unexceptional."

Payson frowned, MJ's caution unsettling her more than she would have liked. "You said she couldn't do anything," she said, remembering MJ's firm stance in London.

"Not gymnastics wise," MJ said carefully. "Marty assured me that the only reason that the committee followed her advice this time was because they don't need you to win the invitational.

"They can't beat China or Russia without you," she said in a plain, factual manner. It wasn't about flattery or ego stroking – it was simply the truth. Payson's all-around DOD was higher than anyone else's on the US team – maybe even the world – and without it, it would be a close race for third.

"You don't need to worry about your gymnastics," MJ continued with absolute certainty, "but I am worried about your endorsements.

"But that's my job to worry about it, not yours," she added reassuringly. "I just need you to be wary of her. Don't let anything slip that might be used against you."

Payson let out a frustrated sigh, annoyed at the underlying politics. "Anything I should be looking out for?" she asked in reply.

"If I knew that, love, I'd be a lot less worried," MJ admitted ruefully. "But it's nothing I can't handle," she added with a self-assured smile.

"Night, love," she finished as the driver opened the side door, offering a hand to Payson as she slipped out of the car. "If they ask, you can tell your folks I've got everything under control. And I'll see you all at Nationals."

"I'll see you then," Payson agreed. She waved goodbye to MJ and thanked the driver for his help, before turning up the path to her house. Her mother was already waiting in the doorframe with a warm smile on her face. "You didn't have to wait up," Payson told her.

"I did for my own peace of mind," Kim disagreed. "It was no bother." She smiled and wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter's shoulders. It seemed to her as though years had passed in the five days and her daughter had come back as a different person – a happier, slightly less reserved person, who was becoming increasingly more comfortable in her own skin. It wasn't a huge difference, but it shone through so blatantly in everything that Payson did that Kim couldn't help but notice the change.

"You look so lovely, sweetheart," Kim said sincerely, holding Payson at arms length to examine her. There wasn't anything in this world more beautiful than a young girl in love.

Payson eyed her mother with some suspicion. "Did Becca do something to my room while I was gone?" she asked coolly. "Because her selling my stuff on eBay isn't cool."

"Don't worry, Pay. I kept her out of your room this time," Kim assured her with a laugh. "I don't think she was actually serious about that threat anyway."

Together they brought Payson's two bags inside, and shut the door behind them. "Are you sleepy?" Kim asked as Payson quietly made her way to the lounge and settled into one of the armchairs.

"Not really," Payson answered vaguely, shaking her head. "I slept on the plane."

"Is everything alright then, Payson?" Kim asked cautiously as Payson's quietness uneased her. She hadn't seen Payson looking so serious and quiet in years – not since the obsessive 'focus' of her junior years.

Payson said nothing for at least a minute, and let herself silently dwell on her own thoughts before finally giving in to her mother's gentle prodding. "I'm fine, I just . . ." Payson began before trailing off as suddenly as she began. "It's stupid," she insisted.

"It can't be stupid if you're feeling bad about it," Kim assured her. "What's wrong, Payson?"

"Nothing," Payson said firmly. "I'm just missing Sasha. That's all.

"I guess I really am one of those sappy girly-girls," she joked weakly. "Missing a guy when it hasn't even been a whole day. How pathetic," she criticized.

Kim shook her head and sat on the arm of Payson's chair, manoeuvring her arm around her daughter so she could hold her comfortingly. "There's nothing wrong with missing someone you care about, Pay," she said simply. "When you love someone it doesn't matter if they're gone a day or a year. It feels the same.

"When your dad was in Minnesota," she continued. "I'd miss him as soon as I left the airport. He hadn't even left Colorado and I'd already be missing him and counting down the hours until we all saw him again. It's not something you ever get used to, but I don't think we're supposed to."

She pulled Payson close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now are you going to tell me what's really bothering you, Pay?" she asked with a knowing look.

Payson glanced up, sending her mother a rueful smile. "Nothing ever gets passed you, does it?"

"No," Kim said proudly. "It's called being a mother. You get all kinds of fun super powers like knowing when your kids are lying to you and being able to turn any four ingredients into an edible meal.

"Now spill before I bring out the heavy artillery," she said with mock forcefulness.

"Can I have a cup of tea first?" Payson asked sweetly trying to bide herself some more time. Kim gave her a dubious look. "I drink tea," she protested flatly.

"Of course, dear," Kim conceded, clearly still disbelieving. "And how do you like this _tea_?"

"With lemon and cumin seeds," Payson retorted glibly. "But just the lemon will do."

"Just the lemon will do," Kim repeated, shaking her head. She led them both to the kitchen and turned on the kettle as she went to the pantry to get what she needed. "I suppose you'll be wanting fresh lemon?" she asked, poking her head out of the pantry.

"Preferably," Payson nodded. Kim wasn't sure which surprised her more – the fact that her daughter had become so picky, or that Sasha was so indulgent with her. Actually, the latter didn't surprise her at all. The few times she'd gotten to see Sasha with Payson, he'd practically fallen over his feet just to please her. And somehow, Payson still had no idea of the sort of power she wielded over her hapless boyfriend.

The tea took a few moments to prepare – the lemon part more than anything else – but eventually the two steaming beverages were prepared and Kim stared down her daughter over a cup of lemon flavoured tea. "So?" she asked meaningfully.

Payson sighed. "I'm just . . . not ready to be home," she admitted reluctantly, a large part of her feeling guilty for saying as much to her mother. "I was only there five days and I was working most of the time. I got a day at best.

"It just doesn't seem fair," she groused. "After everything that happened, I still only get to see Sasha for a day. And I have to come back to all this drama that I just don't feel like dealing with right now.

"I . . . wish I was there instead," she finished in a small voice staring down into her drink.

Kim murmured something consolingly as she sat her tea on the counter and took Payson in her arms once again. "It'll be alright, sweetheart," she assured her. "You and Kaylie will be friends again."

"I don't know if we can be," Payson shrugged tiredly. "I don't even know what the problem is. I can't believe one of my best friend's would just turn on me like that for no reason," she sighed.

"I'm sure it'll work out," Kim said, trying her best to reassure her and stay optimistic. "You girls have been through so much together. You're like family. I know you'll get past this, whatever it is."

"And if we don't?" Payson asked. Her mind jumped to the worst-case scenario, running through her options for when things turned out as bad as she thought they were.

"You will," Kim assured her.

"You don't know that," Payson protested, her expression fierce. "We're supposed to be a team, Mom. How are we supposed to get through Nationals or the Olympics like this? How am I supposed to do this without my friends?"

"Oh, Pay," Kim sighed, holding her daughter against her shoulder. "It'll all work out, sweetheart. I know it will. One way or another."

Payson nodded against her shoulder and Kim tsked lightly as she ran her hand against her daughter's hair. "This isn't like you, Payson," she noted, remembering what had started this conversation. "I've never known you to run away from anything."

"It's not that I want to run away, Mom," Payson said, pulling back to look her in the eye. "I just . . . when I'm with Sasha everything is better," she admitted, shyly biting her lip. "I suppose I just forgot about everything else while I was there, and it all hit me as soon as I had to say goodbye."

Kim cooed sympathetically as a teasing smile formed on her lips. "I'm sure that magic works long distance too," she grinned at her daughter. Payson flushed a little and ducked her head.

"For what it's worth, Pay, I'm glad you got to forget for a little while," Kim said softly, smoothing out her daughter's hair. "I'm glad that Sasha makes you happy."

"He does," Payson agreed with an irrepressible smile. Her eyes glimmered with happiness and her smile was so brilliant it made Kim stop in awe.

"You really love him, don't you?" Kim asked gently, although she already knew the answer.

Payson nodded solemnly. "More than anything," she whispered sincerely.

* * *

_FLASHBACK: Billesley Manor Hotel – Warwickshire  
27 April 2012_

Payson gingerly held the garment – if you could call it that – in her hands, giving it an apprehensive look and studying the details intently. Her hands caught in the shoestring latticed straps, unsure of what went where or how they intertwined, letting the remainder of the blue/black garment hang down in front of her, barely reaching her knees even with something of a head start.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered disparagingly. "It's just like pyjamas. You can't be afraid of pyjamas."

Except it wasn't really like pyjamas at all. Pyjamas were just things you wore to bed with no regard to anyone else. They were comfortable and light and in Payson's case usually said something stupid about 'forking' or had fluffy sheep printed all over.

Pyjamas were not normally made of silk and lace. They were usually far more decent than the garment, which hugged her curves like a second skin. They didn't usually have low cut necklines that just barely covered the lower part of her breasts. This was certainly _not_ pyjamas.

She continued staring at the garment – just as she had for the last fifteen minutes – wondering what the hell she had ben thinking when she pulled it out of her luggage fifteen minutes earlier. She hadn't even wanted to buy the thing, let alone take it with her to London. Lauren had insisted on taking her shopping for 'something sexy' and Payson had been too embarrassed at the thought of her mother accidently finding it to leave it behind.

She was so caught up in the perusal of the garment that she didn't even notice Sasha re-enter the room after his nightly rituals until he was wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. Out of habit and instinct, she relaxed into his warm body, breathing in the scent of cedar and citrus that he carried with him.

His lips brushed against her neck, working their way up towards her ear in a trail of feather light kisses that made her skin burn underneath. He grinned wolfishly as he eyed the garment in her hands. "Were you planning to seduce me, Miss Keeler?" he teased, his voice turning low and gravely on its own accord as he consider that rather appealing prospect.

But then he felt her stiffen in response to his comment, making it clear that seduction was not on her mind at the moment. Her head dropped to her chest and she gave a loud sigh. "I don't know," she uttered, clutching the garment in her hands.

"Oh, Pay," he said softly, his mood changing to match hers. He tightened his hold on her for a moment, squeezing her reassuringly as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

She turned in his arms and he held her as close as humanly possible. "You don't need to wear that for me, _iubită_," he said firmly.

"I'm such an idiot," she complained with a frustrated sigh and self-directed eye roll, her mood dampened more by embarrassment than anything else. "Today has been perfect and then I go and ruin it all by freaking out over something stupid."

"You're not," he disagreed. "And you haven't ruined anything.

"Now go change into that sexy 'forking' number of yours," he teased, feeling relieved when this made her crack a small smile, "while I turn the bed down."

She smiled weakly and rose on her feet so she could kiss him softly on the lips, trying to convey what she felt without words. She pulled him close, tugging gently at the baby hairs at the nape of his neck while the other hand ghosted against his cheek.

"Thank you," she said pulling slightly away and meeting his gaze. "Thank you for making today so perfect and for putting up with me when I'm being stupid. This is all I could ever ask for.

"You are the . . . Sasha, you . . ." she began several times, struggling to find the exact words she wanted.

So she just gave in to the niggling desire and said what she felt.

"I love you, Sasha," she told him with a wane smile and an apologetic shrug.

He gaped, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing without making any sounds. He tried to process and determine how to respond to the words that he couldn't or wouldn't say.

"I – "

She kissed him firmly, cutting him off before he went and ruined it by telling her he _really_ liked her and hoped he could feel the same, or that he loved spending time with her. He would say anything to make her feel better – to avoid hurting her – but she was sure that might just kill her.

"You don't have to say anything," she said gently, as she pulled back slightly, staying close enough for her nose to brush against his as her fingers trailed reassuringly against his jaw. "I just wanted you to know." There was no pressure or expectations. She just wanted him to know how much he meant to her – how happy she was to be with him – and how much she appreciated everything he did, and that was the only way she knew how to say it.

He smiled gratefully and cupped her face in his hands, bringing her lips back to his in a gentle kiss. Their lips pressed together, just moving gently against one another as his hands slipped down her sides and hers slid around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. And then the kiss deepened, as Payson pulled him closer and slid her tongue across the seam of his lips, enticing him into a fiercer kiss.

The mood had changed once again, and they both seemed to sense that this night would take them further than they had been before. The fire and passion in their kisses built faster than usual, and soon enough his shirt had been discarded on the floor and he was helping her out of her dress, revelling at the sight of her in nothing but a matching bra and panties.

His hands slid over the curves suddenly revealed to him, his every sense set alight by the feel of her warm, smooth skin under his fingers. She moaned lightly in response to his attention and he felt her breath hot against his skin as her lips set trails from his throat to his chest. Her fingers searched for his belt, attacking the device with gusto so that she could begin even out the imbalance in their state of undress.

She was thoroughly intoxicating, making it impossible for him to think of anything beyond her dextrous lips, delicate hands, and impossible curves. Together they backed towards the bed, not even bothering to disengage themselves to find their bearings or check for obstacles in their path. It was like nothing existed beyond the two of them, not even the four-poster bed as the mattress hit the back of her knees and the two tumbled together into the decadent sheets.

He felt his resistance crumble as they kissed, nothing about it sweet or gentle. It was fierce and ugly as passion dictates. Teeth scrapping against skin, tongues wrestling for dominance, hands grasping possessively at newly revealed expanses of skin as his will was tested beyond all reasonable limits.

"Tell me to stop," he begged as he loomed over her, pressing her into the mattress beneath them.

She shook her head, breathless under his ministrations, and meeting his heated gaze with hooded eyes.

"Not yet."

~ to be continued ~

Yup, so back to Boulder and the drama filled world of The Rock. And just a week until the meet against France and Italy and all that that entails.

And I'm sure all you really want to talk about is the flashback at the end. I'll just let you take from that what you will.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

_Iubită:_My love/beloved  
_  
_


	38. Edging Forward

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Edging Forward

_The Arena – Montpellier, France  
7 May 2012_

Sasha wrapped his wrists with tape, ignoring the whispers of his two British teammates behind him. The European Men's Artistic Gymnastics Championship had always been a weird one for him – it was genuinely a team competition in a way that few of the others were. It was one of the few events he knew of that didn't actually feature an all-around competition.

"Oh just ask him already," Louis Smith, the team's pommel horse specialist, said exasperatedly, shoving his redheaded teammate forward.

"You want something, Purvis," Sasha asked without looking in their direction.

Daniel Purvis, the redheaded, Liverpudlian gymnast whose place Sasha had usurped as top seed in the UK Men's team, glanced around sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with anyone – including the back of Sasha's head. "I was just wondering," he said cautiously, "if yer girl was gunna be here."

Sasha shook his head, chuckling clandestinely to himself. Purvis, it turned out, was a Payson Keeler fan with a bit of a crush on the American Women's team in general.

"They've got a competition next week," Sasha responded, turning around to face them. "Austin Tucker's here, but that's not exactly a consolation."

"No," Purvis agreed, shaking his head solemnly in disappointment. "Who are they up against?" he asked, referring to the girls' competition.

"Italy and France, so nothing that'll be too hard for them," Sasha replied.

"I still don't see what that girl sees in you," Smith mused, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "You're so old, Belov."

"I'm still young enough to beat the likes of you boys," Sasha reminded him coolly. "How many Olympic gold medals you got again?" he added with a smirk.

"Ouch," Smith muttered jokingly. "You know what they say," he said, pausing a moment, "_everybody loves a winner, so nobody loves me_."

"Did you just quote a Liza Minnelli song?" Purvis asked, shifting away from his friend.

"Yeah," Smith shrugged.

"Just checking," he said, completely unfazed.

Sasha shook his head, slightly amused by his teammates' antics.

"You ready?" Nikolai asked, approaching him with a concerned look. To Sasha's relief, Nikolai's doctors had cleared him for travel, thus allowing him to join them in France as a floor coach. He wasn't sure what he would have done if that hadn't been the case and he'd never had to compete internationally without Nikolai in his support system.

"I am," Sasha replied and Nikolai nodded, leaving him to his mental preparation. Sasha reached into his gym bag for his cellphone, which had been buzzing incessantly beside him for the last half hour. He was inundated with well-wishing texts and emails, including a rather ridiculous one from Austin Tucker who couldn't just wish a person 'good luck' like a normal person.

**_Noroc, drăguţ. Mă gândesc la tine._**

He smiled as he read the message from Payson, the words touching him in a profound way. Romania and the language of his home country, was something he was incredibly sentimental about, and he loved that Payson knew that about him and that it was something he could share with her.

He couldn't think of a time in his life when he'd ever felt as happy as he did right now. It felt like everything was falling into place both in his professional life and his personal life. He was at the top of his game in gymnastics, he'd managed to mend some bridges with old friends, Nikolai's health was stable (which was probably the best he could hope for), and he had Payson.

Payson who was beautiful and unassuming, and who gave him all the time in world he needed to work out his feelings. She'd made it okay that he couldn't say the words back, letting him know that she wouldn't hold it against him and that she didn't need to hear him say those words just because she could.

They'd moved forward in their physical relationship that night, although they hadn't had intercourse. But they'd gone further than they had before, touching one another intimately to their mutual satisfaction. And afterwards she'd slept cradle against him as his thoughts fell entirely upon her confession and what those words meant.

.

_He smiled gently as he shifted a lock of hair falling over her face, pulling it straight before he let the corkscrew curl return to its unnatural form. Her breathing was deep and even as she curled against him, her head against his chest and arms wrapped around his torso. She shuddered a little as the cool evening chill replaced the heat they had generated earlier, and he pulled her closer, wrapping the blanket over her naked shoulders._

'She loves me,'_ he thought to himself as he examined her delicate features, placid and content in the realms of sleep. He'd almost been lulled into dreamland himself by the sound of her regular breathing, but he hadn't allowed himself such a luxury, instead taking advantage of the quiet and solitude that night provided in order to test his reaction to the words she had spoken earlier._

_He wasn't sure what he was expecting of himself. Perhaps he expected to be mad at her, jealous that she could say what he couldn't? Afraid because of what it meant and how much they had come to mean to each other? Sadness because of what had come of those words in the past?_

_He'd only said 'I love you' to one person in his life – his mother. It was the last thing he'd been able to say to her before she died and the memory would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. How could he possibly accept such words when they had been the prelude to his mother's death?_

_And yet he did. He wasn't even sure if he believed in love – it had been too long since he had been that idealistic and too much had happened in his life that had very little to do with Marty and MJ – but he believed that she loved him, and that thought made him happier than he would have expected just six months ago before Payson had come into his life and unconsciously begun to change him. __He needed her more than he even realized. He didn't want to lose her – he couldn't lose her. _

_Before Payson he'd been content in his loneliness and yet now he couldn't imagine his life without her. He could see himself spending the rest of his life with her, and maybe even falling in love with her.__Maybe he was already there._

_But he didn't know. He couldn't be sure. He wanted to love her, if for no other reason than the fact that it was what Payson deserved. Payson deserved someone who could say the words in return without feeling uncertain or afraid or wondering what might happen if he did. As if those three little words could be their ultimate downfall._

_And yet somehow, in spite of every reason that he could think of and every rational alternative, she loved him and she understood that there were a lot of not-very-good reasons why he couldn't say those words back, at least not just yet._

_He smiled, running his knuckles against the soft skin of her cheek as he wondered to himself what he had ever done to deserve her. _"Cred că poate fi încadrează în dragoste cu tine," _he whispered, pressing a kiss to her sleeping lips._

_I think I may be falling in love with you_.

_ ._

The sound of Nikolai's low chuckle seemed to break him from his trance, bringing him back to the present.

"What?" Sasha asked incredulously, turning his gaze up towards his coach and eying him suspiciously.

Nikolai lifted his hands in surrender as his bushy white eyebrows rose towards his hairline. "I am just thinking of the past," Nikolai explained cheerily, a broad grin pulling onto his features. "It is what you do when you get as old as I am getting."

Sasha shook his head, silently disagreeing with the old man's appraisal of himself. "Anything in particular?" he asked thoughtfully.

"I am thinking of time of when you asked how I knew I was to coach you," Nikolai replied, nodding his head as his expression turned wistful and nostalgic. "Do you remember what it was I said?"

It wasn't one of his proudest moments, but he remembered the conversation that Nikolai was referring to. He remembered being difficult and petulant and angry, and lashing out at Nikolai when he couldn't lash out at his parents. He had depended on Nikolai so much in that time of his life, not just to coach him, but to be his rock and stability and to hold him together when everything else was falling apart around him. No matter what he said or how he tried to rebel against him, Nikolai always replied with kindness and patience and a look of understanding and acceptance.

"You told me you knew in the same way a man knows he's met the woman he's going to marry," Sasha said. "The way you know when you've hit a perfect routine."

Nikolai nodded and placed a fatherly hand on Sasha's shoulder. "I am thinking you understand this better now, no?" the old man grinned.

"I don't understand," Sasha frowned, unsure of what Nikolai's words meant. And yet his heart sped at the inkling of thought that actually comprehended what Nikolai was hinting at, readying itself for the explanation.

"Payson is one, no?" Nikolai questioned. "The woman you will marry."

"I . . ." Sasha tried to respond, too stunned to string a sentence together. "It's still early days," he protested when he eventually found his voice.

"But you know," Nikolai replied with absolute certainty. "You know like I knew I was meant to coach you, Sasha. _Kak bylo suzhdeno_.

"She is your match," he added surely. "She is like you only . . . oh what is American saying – 'easier on the eye'."

They laughed together at the phrase, easing a little of the solemnity that such a serious topic had shrouded over them. "In some ways she is, but in some ways not," Sasha told his coach vaguely. "But you're right. She is my match."

"And marriage?" Nikolai wheedled, wiggling his bushy eyebrows meaningfully.

"I'm thinking about it," Sasha admitted reluctantly.

Nikolai nodded, seemingly satisfied by this response. "Do not be thinking too long, _moĭ voin_," he warned, the stern tone of his voice a contrast with warm address – my warrior – that Nikolai only used when he was feeling particularly sentimental. "I want to be able to dance at your wedding," he grinned broadly.

"Nikolai . . ." Sasha began to protest, but he was cut off by an announcement over the loud speaker in French and English, letting the competitors know that it was time to enter the arena. The competition was about to begin.

* * *

_The Rock – Boulder  
May 9 2012_

Payson yawned as she approached the balance beam, her body still yearning for her bed eight hours after she had woken up. It probably wasn't one of her better ideas to wake up at two o'clock in the morning so she could watch the team finals, and she was now facing the consequences of that.

"Payson," Marty said, giving her a stern look.

She shook herself, trying to look more awake or at least less asleep. "Yes, Marty?"

He snorted quietly and shook his head, easily guessing the reason for her sleepiness. "Did he win?" he asked with a knowing look.

"They came second to Germany, but they bet out Romania and Russia for silver," she said proudly. She brightened momentarily, only to let out another loud yawn moments later.

"Go have something to eat before you get started on beam," Marty suggested with a concerned frown. "Hopefully that will perk you up a little bit."

She nodded, accepting her coaches sound advice, and headed out to the locker room. She was pretty sure she had a couple of apples in her gym bag – she vaguely remembered putting them in there before she left the house, but she'd been a bit of a zombie all morning, her body clearly not appreciating being woken up four hours early.

Not that she regretted the decision. There was something, well, sexy about seeing Sasha perform; about seeing those firm muscles tighten and strain with exertion, and his arms tense as they carried the full weight of his body. In her mind those same tensed muscles were wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her into a well-formed muscular torso, her ear pressed into his chest as she listened to his steady, reassuring heartbeat.

She sighed dazedly, drifting out of the all-too-brief fantasy and getting back to the task at hand. There were no apples to be found, but she did come across two mandarins and a pear that would do instead. She settled on a nearby bench, carefully pealing the skin off the mandarin and separating the segments.

About halfway through her second mandarin, the quiet serenity of the locker room was broken as someone else came in, trainers padding lightly on the linoleum floor. They seemed to see each other at the same moment as Payson grimaced and Kaylie faltered in her sure steps. After managing to avoid one another so effectively for more than two weeks, it was inevitable that they ran into each other now, with nobody else around to play interference.

Kaylie pointedly ignored her, aggressively unlocking and opening her locker and throwing gym bag and her warm up jacket inside. Payson just watched, wondering how much longer either of them would be able to withstand this tension.

"You're here late," Payson attempted half-heartedly, trying draw Kaylie into a casual conversation and maybe get the ball rolling on mending things between. Quite frankly, it was getting rather tiring simply avoiding one another and it was about time one of them put in the effort to get things back to normal.

"I had an interview with USA Gymnastics for the meet," Kaylie replied disinterestedly, not even bothering to look in her direction. "Just the usual team captain stuff."

"Fun," Payson replied sarcastically.

"It's good practice," Kaylie continued, ignoring Payson's glib reply. "It looks like I'm going to be the one leading us all to London," she said, finally turning her head towards Payson. "Assuming we all make the team."

"You think I won't?" Payson asked, unable to hold her tongue at Kaylie's deliberate taunt.

"You never know what might happen, Payson. Any one of us could be overlooked for another gymnast," Kaylie replied, her tone still sweet. "It's still a long way from the Olympics and you've had a lot of distractions lately."

Payson bristled at the insinuation, all veiled in feigned concern. "Sasha isn't a distraction," she stated firmly. She narrowed her eyes, a cool chill slipping into her voice. "Like you're one to talk, Kaylie," she said evenly. "What about you and Austin? Or you and Carter? Or you and Nicky?

"You've had more _distractions_ than anyone else in this gym," she finished, watching closely as Kaylie stiffened in response.

"Unlike you, I know how to deal with those distractions," Kaylie said snootily. "I'm not the kind of person that lets their personal life interfere with their gymnastics."

Payson scoffed, knowing too well to believe Kaylie on that point. Kaylie was exactly the kind of person who let her personal life interfere with her gymnastics. Her gymnastics was in all cases a reflection of her personal drama, and it was only Kaylie's sloppy bar routine that kept her from saying something cruel in reply.

"Hiding them isn't the same as dealing with them, Kaylie," she said meaningfully. "I don't care how you or the bloody National Committee see Sasha. I'm not going to pretend he's not a part of my life just so they can sleep better at night.

"Here lies the difference between me and you," she said, standing to her feet for the dramatic finish. "I don't need their approval."

She left before Kaylie could get another word in, slamming her things into the locker with a hard flourish. She didn't feel better for the confrontation, even if had been a long time coming. She just felt guilty and like she'd done more damage than good. She felt like she'd just done irreparable harm and taken this thing between to the next level.

And she wondered, even if she could fix it, whether their friendship was something she wanted to repair.

~ to be continued ~

A long overdue confrontation between Payson and Kaylie on one side of the Atlantic, and some rare team bonding with Sasha's teammates on the other side. Obviously there is still more to come out of the former, but I think I'll save that for when it would be the most inconvenient. Sasha's teammates will probably feature a bit more as we get closer to the Games, especially Purvis who I have already designated as Sasha's roommate.

* * *

**Notes:**

All credit must be given to JCI who is the genius behind Nikolai's words to Sasha about coaching. They appear in Chapter 2 of Lost and Found, which I would tell you all to go read because it's brilliant, but I'm pretty you all have already.

_Moi Voin:_ In case anyone missed the significance, Alexander/Alexandru means 'warrior'.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Russian (phonetic):  
****__Kak bylo suzhdeno:_As was fated.

Romanian:  
**_Noroc, drăguţ. Mă gândesc la tine: _**Good luck. I am thinking of you.


	39. The Ultimate Ultimatum

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – The Ultimate Ultimatum

_Orlando International Airport – Orlando, Florida  
May 12 2012_

Kaylie frowned as she watched Payson work the small pool of media waiting for their arrival. As always she was the centre of attention. Even when she wasn't competing. The media were more interested in asking about a competition happening in another continent than the one happening here in Florida in just two days time.

But it hadn't always been like this. There had been a time when the media paid Payson the bare minimum of attention, only asking her obligatory questions about what it felt like to win gold after her miraculous recovery. They talked to her because she was their champion, but beyond that she just faded into the background.

Payson had never outshone her before, not even going into their first National competition as seniors in 2009. Of course, everyone had been interested in Kelly Parker at the time – defending champion after beating out the rest of the competition at the America's Cup and the only remaining member of the US's junior-senior team from the Pacific Rim Championship in 2008. Payson wasn't exactly media friendly – she didn't care enough to bother with them – which left Kaylie to be all smiles and cheer and to represent The Rock going into the competition.

And then she won. Kaylie Engracia Cruz was the US National Champion, and Payson was broken and forgotten. No, that wasn't true, because even when Kaylie became the National Champion, there were still those whispers around her saying it should have been Payson Keeler – it would have been Payson Keeler if she hadn't fallen on the uneven bars.

After Payson returned, the media attention changed slightly. Payson was the underdog going into Worlds. Nobody expected much of her other than a nice feel good story about the girl breaking her back and coming back to win a gold medal – a team medal. Payson had placed fourth at Nationals, only just edging out Kelly Parker's pet, Tessa Grande, but something seemed to have clicked for her heading into worlds. Payson had shocked everyone at Rotterdam, Kaylie included, first qualifying for and then winning the all-around competition.

But even then, it wasn't like this. It wasn't like Payson was all that anybody wanted to talk about or like her friend had suddenly rocketed into stardom. It was simply about the comeback. It was the appeal of the unexpected. Nobody was really interested in Payson. Kaylie had still been the National Champion then, and she had still been the story at Worlds after she admitted to her battle with anorexia.

Now it was all about Payson, who still grimaced a little at their interest in her and would rather hide away from the intense media scrutiny than thrive in the spotlight. Now all the media wanted to hear about was how happy Payson was with Sasha, and take pictures of them being sickeningly sweet together. Nothing else was worthy of their attention.

Payson had everything now. Kaylie hadn't landed a single new client all year while Payson was reluctantly squeezing fashion launches into her schedule and signing a highly lucrative deal with Audi – the same deal that Kaylie had signed the year before. Her spotlight was waning and Kaylie felt herself fading into the distance as all of their attention was directed towards Payson.

She was a two-time National Champion and the Team Captain, dammit! Why were they ignoring her for Payson? She was barely even on the team!

"Kaylie, over here," Ellen Beals directed, guiding her over to a lone reporter that Beals had somehow managed to coax away from the rest of the group.

The reporter introduced himself as a newspaper writer, making him one of the few people there with absolute no interest in Payson's love life. Even the sports interest magazines were clamoured around the blonde gymnast asking whether she and Sasha had any plans to be married before London – seriously! – but newspapers were purely factual, and had no time for such tawdry gossip.

"I'm really excited," Kaylie told him brightly, tossing him her 'America's Sweetheart' smile. "This is our last international competition before the Olympics. I guess it really puts things in perspective."

He nodded, jotting notes down on his paper. "And what do you say to rumours regarding Payson Keeler not competing this weekend?" he asked her seriously, in that hard-hitting-news-journalist kind of way.

"Rumours?" Kaylie asked him innocently, giving herself more time to come up with an appropriate answer.

He nodded. "Rumours that Payson is being punished for the team underperforming in Russia," he said plainly. "Although, I suppose you weren't there so you wouldn't know," he added thoughtfully. He glanced around, probably trying to see if he could get word from Kelly or Lauren.

"That's just ridiculous," Kaylie told him with a trilling laugh. "Payson's just had other commitments," she said vaguely, the best that she could offer in the National Committee's defence. She grimaced, feeling almost guilty for her explanation, but didn't let it show.

"But they still picked her as an alternate?" he pressed. "Wouldn't those same commitments stop her from being able to be here at all?"

"I think that's enough," Ellen Beals interrupted, glaring at the journalist. "Why don't you see if Payson can fit you in between Sports Illustrated and People Magazine?" she asked with a bit of a sting. He gave her a dirty look, but moved off to try and put his question to Payson, despite the crowd around her.

"I'm glad to see you know where your loyalties lie, Kaylie," Beals said lowly with an impressed look. "If you keep this up, you'll be a shoe-in for Team Captain in London.

"I might even be able to have a word with the Calvin Klein people about you," she added promisingly. "They might be looking for a new spokesperson for their campaign heading into the Olympics. There have been some concerns about mixed-loyalties."

Kaylie smiled weakly, understanding the full implications. That was Payson's campaign – one of the few that she had earned entirely on her own merit as National and World Champion. It was one that Payson had been really excited about since she was named the spokesperson for the 'Olympic Spirit' campaign back in November, and something she'd seen as a part of her journey to Olympic gold. It was about recognizing the struggle and everything that had been sacrificed simply to get to where she was today.

But Payson had brought it upon herself, hadn't she? And there were so many other campaigns and photo shoots and commercials that should have rightfully been Kaylie's? Hadn't that been almost exactly what Kaylie had been thinking a little over ten minutes ago?

And if all that was so . . .

Then why was she feeling so guilty?

* * *

_Grand Bohemian Hotel - Orlando_

"Ladies, you have your room assignments," Ellen Beals said firmly. "Go get ready. I want to see you all back here in the lobby no later than five thirty for dinner with the other teams."

"Yes, Ms Beals," they chorused together, some more genuinely than others. They dispersed, most of them heading towards the elevator bays, leaving just Payson alone in the lobby as Ellen Beals flounced off towards the hotel lounge.

Payson grimaced to herself, reluctantly following after the NGO co-ordinator. "Ms Beals," she said as pleasantly as she could manage. "It seems I haven't been given a room assignment."

"Oh, Payson," she said as she turned around, acting as though she'd only just remembered that Payson was even on the team. "I forgot all about you."

The woman smiled smugly, the implied apology obviously fake, so Payson said nothing in return. "Let's see. I'm sure one of these rooms was a triple," Beals said, glancing down at her clipboard. "Here we are - 721. I can squeeze you in with Andrea and Kaylie," she grinned maliciously, only looking more pleased as Payson twitched apprehensively.

"Try not to keep Kaylie up too late with your girl talk," she warned, tossing her coiffed hair over her shoulder. "Kaylie does have a competition on Monday." She turned on her heel, still grinning smugly to herself as her tacky reeboks squeaked on the marble floor.

Payson scoffed in exasperation, rolling her eyes to the heavens. "Why do you do this?" Payson asked before the woman left completely. A part of her knew that she should be more cautious with her words, but she assumed at this point that they couldn't make thing between herself and Beals any worse than they already were.

Beals turned slowly, eyes narrowed and lips purse. "Do what?" she asked nastily, practically goading Payson into saying it aloud.

Payson returned the narrowed gaze, her stance shifting to something guarded and tense. "What exactly do you have against me?"

Beals almost looked impressed by her response – surprised and a little bit taken aback to finally see one of the 'Rock Rebels' speaking back to her. Of course it didn't last, and her smug expression morphed into a scowl. "To be honest, I find your attitude deplorable, Payson," she said pompously. "You seem to think that the ordinary rules that apply to everyone else have no application to yourself.

"It was that attitude that saw you injured at Nationals," she accused with a low hiss. "If you hadn't been too proud to take cortisone or reduce your routine to something your back could handle none of that would have happened."

Payson's eyes widened with fear and worriedly prayed that Beals didn't know more than she was letting on. Beals smiled superiorly, thinking she had bested her adversary. "You think I didn't know?" Belas asked, her eyes gleaming with malice. "There is nothing about this team I don't already know," she assured her.

"So that's it?" Payson asked. "You're punishing me for Nationals? Or for Worlds? Or some other event that we might have won if I hadn't been a fool and broken my back?" she asked bitingly.

"I'm doing you a favour," Ellen Beals hissed back, raising her hand in a dramatic motion. Payson flinched on instinct, thinking for a moment that Ellen Beals might actually slap her.

"You need to learn that the same rules apply to everyone – even World Champions," Beals said, continuing her tirade. "You don't get to bend the rules just because of your talent.

"You need to learn to put this team first," she added forcibly, her hand dropping to her side. She stepped a little closer, a gesture clearly intended to intimidate, and lowered her voice. "Perhaps if you could show me where your priorities lie sometime this weekend, we could make some changes to the invitational roster."

Payson's eyes widened, her disbelief written across her face. But she couldn't believe that anyone would stoop so low, so tried not to jump to conclusions. "What are you saying?" she asked unsurely.

Beals gave her a contemptuous and patronizing look. "You need to prove to people that you're willing to play by the rules and follow the orders of your betters," she answered vaguely before adding in her clear intentions with a cruel sneer. "I'm telling you that if you want to be a part of this team, then you should end things with Sasha Belov."

"And if I don't?" Payson challenged her.

"Then you won't compete," Beals shot back, "and Tessa Grande takes your spot on the team."

Payson shook her head, the defiance practically rolling off her in waves. She held Beals' gaze, not letting her self turn away for even a moment for fear that Beals might interpret that as submission or defeat. "You can't stop me from going to the Olympics," she said confidently, her lips setting in a firm, unmoving line.

"True," Beals agreed with a sigh of exasperation, "but that's not the only chink in your armour," she threatened with a malicious smile.

"So tell me, Payson," she smiled smugly, leaving with one parting blow. "Is Sasha Belov really worth your career?"

~ to be continued ~

Part of me wishes I could have cackling laughter or dramatic music play at the end of this scene. Yes, Ellen Beals is THAT evil.

* * *

**Notes:**

I took the opportunity to do a little fiddling with MIOBI canon, mostly just trying to fit it all into the actual competitions. I'm not sure if I've gone a little too far with having Payson go from fourth in the country to first in the world. It's probably pushing the envelope a little, but it's also Payson Keeler who is kick-ass and totally capable of that sort of thing.

* * *

**Translations:**

_No Sasha, so no translations. Almost feel as though I've cheated you all a little with his absence . . ._


	40. Before the Worst

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

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Just a Number – Before the Worst

_Grand Bohemian Hotel Lobby - Orlando_

Six gymnasts arrived in the lobby at twenty past five, all of them dressed smartly but conservatively in modest dresses.

"I wonder where Payson is?" Lauren asked innocuously, glancing around for her fellow blonde. "She's usually the first person to arrive."

"She's probably on her way," Kaylie shrugged, feeling inexplicably anxious for her teammate's absence. Her eyes travelled in the direction of Ellen Beals who wore a victorious smirk that seemed to grow smugger as the minutes passed.

By the time it reached five-thirty, the anxiety had spread to all but Beals herself. "Kaylie, could you go get your roommate?" she suggested with false kindness. "Tell her she's expected to be at team functions even if she isn't competing."

"Of course, Ms Beals," Kaylie nodded, heading up to their hotel room. She was reluctant to have to confront Payson again, but Beals wasn't a person that you disagreed with.

She knocked on the door several times without answer and was almost ready to leave when she thought she heard a sound from inside. It almost sounded like a . . . sob? But that couldn't be right. Why on earth would Payson be crying? Her life was perfect. She had everything – what was there to cry about?

"Payson?" she called apprehensively as she entered the room, ducking her head around the door. She gasped at the sight that met her – Payson sitting on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly ahead as tears trailed down her cheeks.

"Payson, what's wrong?" she asked quickly, crossing the room to her friend's side. "It's okay," she promised.

"It's not," Payson disagreed, shaking her head and pressing her hands to her cheeks to try and stave her tears.

"I think Sasha and I broke up."

* * *

_Earlier_

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Payson cringed as she waited outside Room 721, waiting for either Kaylie or Andrea to open the door. Ellen Beals – in her unfailing kindness – had left her without a key to the room. It was all part of some ridiculous scheme to make this meet as painful for her as possible, starting with rooming her with Kaylie Cruz and ending with blackmail.

Beals was beyond manipulative and the fact that she thought that blackmail would actually work was downright offensive. Did Ellen Beals really think that she was so shallow? She didn't even care about the money or the fame or anything else that went along with that side of being a gymnast. She'd had more than her fair share of both and Sasha was so much more important to her than any of that.

And now to make matters worse, she had to go and face Kaylie who was probably still looking smug over her captaincy. As though she even cared who was captain. As much as it was an honour to be named team captain, she didn't have the patience for the rest of it – having to do special interviews and play nice with the NGO and the rest of the gymnastics politics. Kaylie could have her stupid captaincy for all she cared and she wouldn't fight her for it, no matter what Kaylie or Beals thought.

"Oh, good you're here," Andrea Conway said as she opened the door and let her in.

"Uh . . . yeah," Payson said awkwardly as she slipped passed her. Her bags had been set up neatly in one of the corners near the queen-sized bed that she would undoubtedly be sharing seeing as she'd gotten in last. "Where's Kaylie?" she asked, glancing around the room for the other girl.

"She's gone to get ready with Tanner," Andrea responded, doing some final preening in the mirror, "which is why it's good you're here. I wasn't sure if you had a key, but you're here now, so I can head out.

"Do you want the key?" she asked, holding up the oblong card obligingly.

"It's okay," Payson assured her. "I'm not planning to go anywhere besides this room."

"Alright," Andrea nodded. "I'll see you at dinner.

"Don't forget to dress 'modestly'," she added dryly as she walked out the door, leaving a grateful Payson alone to stew in silence.

She changed into her evening attire – a shirt-dress, which she'd bought because it reminded her of _Mad Men_. It was very modest, with three-quarter sleeves and a knee-length skirt, and there was really nothing more modest and chic than 1950s era clothing. She left her hair hanging loose and straight over her shoulders.

With that out of the way, she settled herself down in the centre of the bed and began to strategize.

_'I'll have to call MJ_,' she thought immediately, starting with the most logical response to Beals' ultimatum. This was exactly the sort of thing that MJ had been worried about. She was glad to know that MJ hadn't underestimated Ellen Beals – it put her at ease because MJ was sure to have some plan in the works already that would combat it.

_'Unless this is what MJ wanted all along.'_

She tried to brush the thought aside as paranoid and ridiculous, but there was a part of her that couldn't help but wonder if there was some merit to her suspicions. MJ had made herself clear from the beginning that she'd rather Payson wasn't with Sasha, but was keeping her mouth shut just so long as it was profitable. If Ellen Beals interfered then it stopped being profitable and MJ's reluctant support would be withdrawn. At the very least, she needed to consider the possibility that MJ might not be on her side for this.

Payson shuddered at the thought of MJ and Beals working together.

The situation was still manageable, even with MJ turned against her, but it would certainly be easier with MJ onside. Whatever Beals was planning was bound to have some kind of media backlash that would likely affect Sasha as much as it would her, and Payson knew it wasn't the sort of thing she could deal with entirely on her own. Maybe she was better off telling Howard first just in case MJ decided to deal with things by foisting all the negative publicity onto Sasha instead.

She groaned aloud in frustration. This is why she hated the press. All the backstabbing and manipulation and the need to talk to the right person at the right time . . . she didn't have the head for this sort of thing. It was all beyond her and as someone who was always upfront with everyone, she didn't know what to expect of people whose job it was to deceive and pretend.

Could she even trust MJ with this? Or would MJ just use it as the long awaited opportunity to finally bury Sasha? She knew how badly things had ended between the two – gymnastics was a _very_ small world, after all – and Sasha had done some pretty hefty damage to both their careers when he made everything between them public. Even at age ten, what was happening there hadn't escaped her notice, although she was somewhat ignorant to its full implications.

And what about Howard? Where did he fit into this? They'd become friends through her relationship with Sasha, but at the end of the day there was no doubt as to where his loyalties lay. He was Sasha's best friend and his agent, and if things got bad enough, his hand might be forced. She knew that Howard would never set out to deliberately hurt her, but he still had to do what was best for Sasha and that might mean acting directly against her interests.

She could feel a headache coming on. All the complexities and apprehension was slowly building up and the tension was becoming a pulsing ache at the front of her brain.

**_"Your love for me is not debatable. Your sexual appetite's insatiable. You never, ever make me wait-able. Delectable, inflatable you."_**

She started as her musical ringtone broke the still silence and forced her out of her head. The cherry voice of Tim Minchin did not help her burgeoning migraine, although knowing who was on the other end of the phonecall did ease some of her tension. She didn't even need to force a smile as she answered with a bright, "Hello, Hunnybun."

_"No,"_ Sasha deadpanned in response.

"No?" she repeated with a childish pout so perfectly executed that Sasha could hear it in her voice. "What about 'Sugar Pea'?" she asked as he laughed.

_"No_."

"You're mean," she declared with another pout.

_"And you have completely misunderstood the application of sweet talk, _pisicuţă," he replied warmly, making her smile brighter. A part of her realized that she probably shouldn't like that particular endearment as much as she did, but it was her favourite amongst his many nicknames for her.

"I quite doubt that sweet talk is going to be much help here," she replied in an exasperated tone. "If it had been any use you would have caved to something ridiculously cutsey like 'cupcake' weeks ago," she said, although technically she'd only been attempting to bestow him with said cutsey nickname for about a week and a half. She was trying to rectify the fact that Sasha had at least five little endearments to call her, and in return she only had the one that he let her get away with.

_"I would never agree to 'cupcake'_," he said stonily. _"Do I look like a 'cupcake' to you, Payson_?"

She considered his question, trying to picture Sasha answering to 'cupcake'. "I see your point," she conceded. "So how did the rest of today go?" she asked eagerly, knowing the gist of the results rather than the details thanks to their flight time and a gruelling press conference before they even left.

"Apparently you dedicated one of your medals to me," she added with evident amusement. She was always slightly awed by the degree to which the press could twist things and turn them into something they weren't.

Sasha laughed, clearly sharing her thoughts. _"I only said you picked up on the leg separation in my pommel horse dismount and I guess that's what it turned into four hours and 5000 miles later,"_ he mused.

"Well in that case you probably should dedicate the medal to me," she said snobbishly. "There is nothing uglier than leg separation."

_"Except maybe cowboying,"_ Sasha pointed out.

"Except cowboying," she agreed disdainfully.

They moved on to other topics – comparing their current locations (France the obvious winner here, even if Payson's hotel did have a pool), a brief discussion of current events, and Sasha talking about being with his mother in nearby Marseille. At some point Payson made the conscious decision not to tell him about her confrontation with Ellen Beals, that is, to wait to tell him until he was done competing. Sasha needed to keep a clear head when competing and she knew that the latest developments with Beals would prove a major distraction.

There was nothing he could do about it until after the competition anyway, she justified to herself, so what was the point of risking Sasha's performance simply for the sake of her own comfort and peace of mind?

And yet somehow she knew that Sasha wouldn't see it that way.

_"What's wrong, Pay?"_ he asked seriously.

"Nothing's wrong," she said a touch too quickly.

He paused and she knew he didn't buy that for a second. "_Except that you're avoiding telling me something,"_ he said, his voice tinged by hurt and anger. _"What is it, Pay?"_ he said more gently. _"You know you can tell me anything."_

"It's nothing," she reiterated. "I just had a run in with Beals earlier, but it's no big deal," she said lightly, trying to play it down so that Sasha wouldn't press her for details. "Just Beals being her usual obnoxious self.

"I just didn't want you to worry about me over nothing," she said apologetically. "That's why I didn't tell you."

"_It's not nothing,"_ Sasha responded, knowing her too well to be fooled. _"If it was nothing you would have told me."_

He sounded unhappy with her, and she could understand that, but she still couldn't tell him. They'd never really had any secrets – maybe because they hadn't been together long enough to reach that milestone – and she didn't like not telling him, but she knew it would be better to just leave it for now.

"Sasha, can we please just forget about this?" she all but begged. "We'll talk about it later. I promise.

"Just please let it go."

But he couldn't, and she'd known that almost as soon as he brought it up. It wasn't in his nature. He was single-minded to the point of relentlessness. He was possessive and protective. He was reckless, especially when it came to his own well-being, and impulsive with no sense of anything outside of gymnastics.

And he loved her too much to simply _let it go_.

_"You know I can't,"_ he said solemnly. His mind had read (perhaps) too much into her silence and he feared for the worst. _"Payson, if she's done something . . . if she's threatened you or done anything to hurt you . . . I need to know._

_"I need to know if you're in trouble, _dragă."

"I'm not in trouble, Sasha, and you don't need to know this," she said insistently, the words coming out with more bite than she intended. "Not right now."

_"Not right now?"_ he repeated in a dry tone, the irritation in her tone raising his defenses.

"Yes," she said. "I just can't tell you right now."

She could practically hear him bristling on the other end. _"And why exactly do you get to decide what I need to know? I don't need you to protect me, Payson,"_ he accused with a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Why can't you just accept that I'll tell you when I'm ready?" she argued back defensively. "I'm only doing this because I love you, but gods, Sasha . . . you can be so damn stubborn sometimes.

"Is it really such a blow to your fragile male pride to have someone else looking out for you?" she taunted nastily, reducing everything down to its crudest denominator. She wasn't even sure where the words were coming from, only that she knew she'd rather fight him on this than tell him the truth.

She wasn't sure if it was the accusation or the 'I love you', but he reacted badly. _"Don't put this back on me, Payson,"_ he argued hotly. _"This has nothing to do with me or my pride. This is about you thinking you know what's best for me._

_"What was it you said about unilateral decision making?"_ he asked, throwing her words back at her. _"I guess it's only okay when you do it."_

"This isn't the same," she replied. "This isn't that big a deal. And I _will_ tell you, Sasha. Just not right now."

_"If it's not a big deal, then just tell me,"_ he said. He paused, giving her the chance to spill her secret, and when she didn't he let out a loud sigh. _"You won't. All because you think it's better that I find out later,"_ he spat out. _"And what do you plan to do in the meantime, luv. Secrets have a tendency to come out, you know."_

"You're making a bigger deal of this than it is," she told him again. "It's not like I don't want to tell you.

"Just please, Sasha_. Just let this go_."

_"So I'm suppose to be okay with the fact that my girlfriend's keeping something from me?"_ he asked dryly. "_But I suppose I should be okay with it because it's for my own good."_

She should have known that that was what it came down to and that Sasha wouldn't tolerate there being secrets between them. She remembered reading once that our past relationships serve as a template for all our other relationships and there had been far too many secrets in Sasha's past.

_"There anything you're not telling me?"_ he continued in the same dry tone. _"Anything else you think I'm better off not knowing?"_

"Yes," she replied darkly, too far gone to take it all back now. "Like the fact that you can be a real sanctimonious asshole when you want to be, Sasha."

He snorted his disagreement. _"Then I guess we've got nothing more to say to each other,"_ he muttered. _"Perhaps I should save you any more of my 'sanctimonious assholery'_."

"Perhaps you should," she agreed angrily, not knowing what she was saying.

He sighed loudly with a painful sense of finality.

_"I'm done."_

~ to be continued ~

The opening was the original ending for the last chapter, but I decided that it was kinder to end on the altercation with Ellen Beals rather than leave you wondering for a week about what exactly happened. Especially as - and hoping this came across properly - Payson's jumping the bullet a little in calling it a breakup. Although, this being her first serious relationship, I think she's entitled to jump to that conclusion.

This is another of those chapters I both love and hate. Parts of the scene come out brilliant, but there are some points which I can't help but feel come across a little contrived. I think this has to be the second most edited scene so far, second only to Sasha's introspection a couple of chapters back. Anyways, let me know what you think.

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**Notes:**

Bit of a reference in there to Bowlby's attachment theory and the idea that the most significant relationships early on in life form the template for all our later relationships. Sasha has a bad template.

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**Translations:**

_Pisicuta: Kitten_


	41. We Need to Talk

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

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Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

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Just a Number – We Need to Talk

_Hotel d'Aragon - Montpellier_

"Shit!" Sasha muttered to himself as the phone call went to voicemail after two rings.

**_"Hey, you've reached Payson Keeler's phone,"_** said a voice that was distinctly not Payson's. A second voice followed with a cherry, **_"Leave her a message and if you're cool enough she'll call you back."_**

"Pay," he said with a desperate note in his voice, "please call me back. I'm sorry, _iubită. _Just please call me back so we can talk. I . . . _esti inima mea,_ _dragă_. I'm sorry."

He sighed, staring hopelessly at his phone as he waited for her to return his call.

He never meant to get so angry with her and regretted everything he'd said. He was just worried about her and he hated not knowing what was happening. Perhaps he was thinking too much of it, but her not telling him worried him more than anything else about the situation.

To some degree he had taken out his anger at Howard and Nikolai on Payson. What she was doing was small in comparison – trifling even – and he reacted against it like some final straw. He hated that everyone seemed to think it was okay to keep things from him for his own good. He didn't need them protecting him because of some fear that he didn't have the mental toughness to withstand any sort of bad news. It was almost insulting, and maybe that was the real reason why the whole thing upset him so much.

He sighed and began dialling once more.

* * *

_Grand Bohemian Hotel - Orlando_

"Wait . . ." Kaylie said once Payson had finished telling her about her fight with Sasha and everything that had preceded it. "You mean you didn't even tell him what Beals said to you?"

Payson frowned, not sure that she could put this in a way that Kaylie would understand and not take as a personal attack. There was a similarity between Sasha and Kaylie when it came to their gymnastics. Both were vulnerable to outside forces and the only thing that separated them was Sasha's ability to recognize this weakness and use it to his advantage.

Sasha was at his best when his head was clear of any concerns and when he had something positive to focus on. Having Nikolai at the European Championship made a marked difference, and his performance so far had been the best she'd ever seen him. Many of the commentators had noticed and put the victory onto her and the current success in his personal life, but she wouldn't dare be conceited enough to think she had more than negligible effect on Sasha's current performance.

She breathed deeply, feeling the urge to start crying all over again. "I couldn't," she said with a quiet sniff. "I was going to after tomorrow – today," she said, remembering the time difference between Orlando and Montpellier, "but it would just be a distraction while he still has event finals to get through.

"That stupid man would just worry about me when he doesn't need to," she said as she pulled her fingers through her hair, affection evident in her voice even as she cursed his tenacity and a hero-complex she both loved and despised. It didn't escape her notice that it was those same qualities in herself that kept her from telling him about Beals – that it was her stubbornness and her desire to protect him that had caused them to fight.

She was feeling more rational than she had before she'd told everything to Kaylie, and realized they probably weren't broken up. It was just a fight – a pretty big fight and the first in their relationship – and it had shaken her more than she had thought it would. But it wasn't the end even if right now she had no idea what she should be doing to get things back to where they were.

"But still, Pay," Kaylie protested. "Maybe he should be worried. He's kind of the reason you're in this position."

As well meaning as Kaylie's words might be, it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Payson narrowed her gaze and rallied against her concern. "This isn't his fault," she said sternly, her sadness replaced with anger at the accusation. "If not Sasha, then Beals would have found something to hold against me.

"What is your problem with him?" she added heatedly.

Kaylie turned her head and gave a derisive scoff. "You mean other than the fact that one of my best friends has been crying her eyes out over him for the last hour or so?" she asked scathingly.

Payson shook her head, not buying the excuse for a second. "You've been cool towards him for a while, Kaylie," she pointed out. "So what is it?"

Kaylie shrugged, looking guilty as she bit her lip and searched for her answer. She wasn't ready to admit her real reasons and she needed time to brace herself for Payson's reaction. Instead she turned it back around, putting the spotlight on Payson's motivations rather than her own.

"I'm just . . . surprised to see you compromise yourself for a guy," she said, still refusing to meet her friend's gaze. "Like . . . you always seemed so against us having boyfriends and stuff because they're distractions and everything, and now you're just accepting all this crap that Beals is throwing at you when all you have to do to get your position back is breakup with him," she explained. "If this was happening to me or Emily, the old Payson would have told us to drop him in a heartbeat.

"You've changed, Payson," she finished with a sad smile. It came out sounding more like an accusation than the peace offering she had intended it to be, trying to bring their friendship back to what it had been before Sasha Belov got in the way. It seemed like it had been lifetime since she'd been able to just see Payson as a friend and not some rival that was ahead of her in the zero-sum-game. In truth, it wasn't the Payson that had changed, but the situation, and Kaylie was still struggling to adapt.

The small speech did nothing to appease, only giving rise to more anger from Payson. "Is that what you think I should do?" Payson asked her tone emotionless and her face completely neutral. As her anger began to seep through, her tone became dismissive and sarcastic, and her features turned from neutral to hardened. "Do you think I should just be done with Sasha and give in to Beals' ultimatum and turn back into the old Payson so that everything can go back to how it should?

"Even the old Payson could see that that's a stupid idea, Kaylie," she spat out. "People like Ellen Beals don't just stop at one thing. Once a blackmailer knows they have power over you, they're going to keep going until they have everything they want, and the one thing Beals wants more than anything is to see me off the team."

Kaylie scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You're being melodramatic," she drolled.

"Says the girl who thinks I've 'changed'," Payson bit back, obviously not convinced that 'change' was as bad as Kaylie made out. "People do that, you know. Especially round about this time.

"And if Sasha's the reason for that, is that really such a bad thing?" she continued.

"I always thought I couldn't have a boyfriend because it would mess with my gymnastics," she said contemplatively. "But he makes everything better," she finished fondly. "He makes _me_ better."

Kaylie gaped, taken aback by the degree of feeling that Payson was able to put into those four words. Until that moment, she hadn't believed that Payson was capable of feeling so strongly about anyone, especially not a guy that she'd only known since October, but it was hard to deny when it was written so blatantly in her warm expression and weighing on her every word.

"Just . . . forget I said anything," she asked, grabbing her best friend's hand in her own and squeezing lightly.

Payson offered a wane smile, letting her know that it was forgotten. With a small sigh of relief, Kaylie quickly changed the subject rather than let them dwell upon their differences. "I really do think you should tell Sasha about Beals," she said as gently as she could manage. "He's probably more worried about you now than he would have been if you told him."

Payson's expression dropped as she drew her hands away, her fingers fussing absentmindedly with her phone. "I doubt it," she said with a blank look. "He probably hates me right now," she added with a wane smile.

"It can't be that bad," Kaylie tried to assure her, not knowing Sasha well-enough to be able to offer anything more helpful.

Payson grimaced as she shook her head. A part of her knew she was being a touch too dramatic, but it certainly felt that bad even if he rational brain knew better. "I tried to keep something from him," she replied. "Even if I thought I was doing it for his own good I . . . that just makes it worse," she conveyed gravely, emotion choking her words a little.

In the moment, it had all made perfect sense and she was so sure she was doing the right thing that she was willing to fight for it. Now all that self-assuredness had given way to guilt, and feelings that she should have known what it would do to him and what sort of wounds she had re-opened. She should have known how much this would upset him.

She quickly wiped at her eyes, wiping away the moisture that had begun to gather there. Kaylie cooed gently and wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her back.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Kaylie offered weakly, not really sure what else she could say in this situation.

"He never says anything he doesn't mean," Payson said, shaking her head.

"Then maybe he didn't mean things the way you think he meant it," Kaylie tried instead.

"It wasn't exactly ambiguous," Payson muttered. "He's angry and he doesn't want to talk to me right now, and I get it.

"I just . . . hate not being able to talk to him," she said softly.

"Pay, you - ," Kaylie began, cutting herself off as Payson shifted towards her phone, pressing the disconnect button and sending the call straight to voicemail. She'd been doing that for the last half hour as they talked and Kaylie hadn't thought anything of it until then. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Sasha," Payson replied. Kaylie gaped.

"He's still angry," Payson said, reading the question in her expression. "I'm doing us both a favour."

"He might not be," Kaylie offered. "He's probably calling to apologise."

Payson scoffed.

"Here," Kaylie said, taking the phone from her and looking through the history. "Christ, Payson! You've got like six voicemails and twenty missed calls.

"You don't leave that many messages if you're mad," she insisted.

"Sasha might," Payson retorted.

"Nobody does," Kaylie reiterated, sending Payson a challenging look as she pressed the call button on Payson's phone.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see," Kaylie replied as she lifted the phone to her ear, not surprised to hear it pick up part way through the first ring. "Sasha Belov, if you don't get your winy little Romanian ass on the next flight to Florida I swear to _god_ I will hunt down every surviving member of your family and make sure the Belov line ends with you."

"Kaylie!" Payson began to reprimand, but she quickly changed her mind due to more pressing priorities and wrestled the phone from her friends grasp before she said anything worse to her boyfriend. She stood from the bed and moved towards the window, turning her back to Kaylie so that she could have some semblance of privacy.

"Sasha, don't," she said quickly. "You don't need to come here."

_"I can be on the next flight,"_ Sasha responded immediately. _"Dragă, I'm so sorry_," he said genuinely.

"It was my fault," she replied, feeling her eyes well up with tears once again. "I'm sorry, Sasha. I should have told you . . . I just . . ."

_"Shh,"_ he hushed gently. _"Don't cry, Pay,"_ he added, hearing the emotion choking her voice. _"It kills me that I made you cry._

_"I trust you, Pay,"_ he said carefully. _"I can wait until you're ready to tell me," _he promised her.

She smiled, wishing that he was here with her now so that he could see how much that meant to her. "Thank you," she said meaningfully. "You know I only kept it from you because I care about you?" she asked quietly, sniffing back her tears. "I just don't want you worrying about me when you've got a competition to focus on."

_"I know, dragă,"_ he assured her gently

Nodding to herself, she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself before she continued. "Sasha, I know this doesn't make you worry any less," she said firmly, "but I'd feel better telling you in person when you're here and you can actually do something about it. Is that okay?" She held her breath, hoping she hadn't just restarted the argument with her decision.

_"Alright," _he accepted reluctantly, a very large part of him still wishing she would just tell him what was wrong, but understanding for the most part where she was coming from.

"But not until after the competition," she added quickly, remembering Kaylie's threat and Sasha's quick acquiescence. "Finish the competition and _then _come here."

_"Okay,"_ he said with a laugh. _"I'll get there as soon as I can. Will everything be okay until I get there?" _he checked.

She sighed with relief, grateful to hear concern rather than anger in his voice. "It will be," she assured him. "Nothing's going to happen before you get here. Try not to worry about me, okay?" she said, laughing hollowly to herself as her eyes began to well with tears.

_"Okay."_

"I love you," she reminded him, not expecting to hear anything in return.

"_Tu esti inima mea_," he said softly, the words catching in his throat. "_La revedere, frumoasă fată mea."_

_"_La revedere, Alexandru_,"_ she replied, smiling to herself as she hung up the phone.

"So I take it you guys worked everything out," Kaylie said with a smug smile, taking credit for the reunion. "I told you he didn't hate you, Pay."

Payson nodded as she turned around. "He'll probably be here by tomorrow evening," she said with a sigh of relief. She knew there was probably still a lot they had to talk about when he got here, but for now she could relax knowing that she hadn't ruined things completely.

"Thanks, Kaylie," she said lightly.

"You're welcome," Kaylie responded. "What are friends for?"

Payson grinned back at her, obviously relieved to hear her say so. "You better head to dinner," Payson suggested. "Tell Beals I was too upset to come down. If she thinks she's gotten to me then she won't actually care whether I'm there or not."

"Are you going to be alright, Pay?" Kaylie checked as she headed towards the door.

Payson nodded, touching a hand to her forehead, the headache she'd felt coming on earlier back full force now that her anxiety wasn't keeping it at bay. "I'll be fine," she assured her friend. "I think after years of playing the voice of reason to all your boy drama, it's just finally catching up to me."

"I'm happy to return to the favour, Pay," Kaylie said laughing at the joke. She left feeling lighter than she had in months, glad that her friendship had been at least partially resolved. And yet something still nagged at her – the dull, uncomfortable feeling that maybe Payson wasn't quite as worried about things as she needed to be.

~ to be continued ~

All fixed. Well . . . mostly fixed, and obviously there was that dramatic forewarning bit at the end. But I'm pretty sure that nothing bad is gonna happen. At least nothing really bed. Hmmm . . . maybe I should just stop talking

* * *

**Notes:**

The voicemail message is supposed to be Kaylie then Lauren.

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**Translations:**

___Tu esti inima mea:_ You have my heart.  
_La revedere, frumoasă fată mea_: Goodbye (for now), my beautiful girl.


	42. In Difficult Circumstances

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – In Difficult Circumstances

_The Arena – Montpellier_  
_May 13 2012_

Sasha's mind was whirling. He was feeling restless and impatient and he was desperate to just get the competition over and done with so that he could catch a flight to Florida and find out exactly what was happening with Payson right now. His mind wasn't at all where it was supposed to be – it was 5000 miles away on the other side of the ocean instead of in this moment carefully going over his intended routines.

Nikolai frowned at him, recognizing the inner turmoil as it flashed across his features. "You'll do old routine," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"I can't win with that routine," Sasha protested weakly. Nikolai was relegating him back to his original rings routine – the one without the complex butterfly combination that would guarantee him the gold in event finals. The old routine was exactly on par with Fyodor Semyonov's, who was one of his closest matches when it came to the still rings.

"You do old routine," Nikolai said again. "I should not let you do _any_routine," he added, shaking his head disparagingly. "I only let you do old one for protest."

"I can do it," Sasha attempted to argue, but the words sounded unconvincing even to himself.

"You can do it when you are thinking of gymnastics only," Nikolai disagreed. "Now your mind is . . . is cluttered," he said, gesticulating around his head. "You are thinking of other things – of Payson," he guessed.

Sasha sighed loudly. "She told me not to worry about her, but I can't help it," he admitted. "It's hard not to when all I really know is that Beals has threatened her in some way and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Is she in danger?" Nikolai asked, obviously concerned for both their well-beings.

"No, I don't think so," Sasha frowned.

"And she will not be in danger before you get to her?" Nikolai continued to question.

"She said she'd be okay until then."

"Try to be putting it out of your head," Nikolai advised. "I am thinking Payson would be sad if she thought she is getting in way.

"I am not . . . eh patronizing, Sasha," Nikolai continued. "Payson is good, strong girl and I am knowing she would not want you to worry about her like this."

"I know," Sasha agreed. He sighed again, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I know you're right, Nikolai."

"And you do old routine," Nikolai reminded him firmly. "Otherwise she will being mad at me for letting you take crazy risk."

Sasha managed a weak laugh, mostly for his coach's benefit, and smiled gratefully. He felt slightly eased by Nikolai's reassurance, knowing that Nikolai was right about Payson – she was strong and completely capable of looking after herself, and she would be able to handle things just like she promise until he got there to offer his support. She wouldn't want to be the reason for his downfall, so he needed to pull himself together for her benefit if nothing else.

"It will be okay," Nikolai assured him, his large hand squeezing gently at Sasha's shoulder. "It will all be okay."

* * *

"And now we have the last event of the competition – the senior men's still rings," announced Jill Douglas from the commentators box for BBC Sport. She turned to her co-commentator, Andre-Joseph de Potter, for some technical knowledge, smiling indulgently at the Belgian former gymnast and a former coach of the British Women's gymnastic team. "Any predictions, Andre?"

Andre thoughtfully considered the question. "I think it will be with Semyonov," he said, favouring the Russian gymnast over the two British gymnasts who had also qualified for this event final, which probably wouldn't go down well with the BBC's audience. "The Sasha Belov we have seen today is not the same gymnast we have seen of late. Unless something truly unexpected happens, I do not think he will be able to give the performance he needs."

"Even with his degree of difficulty?" Jill asked, throwing in the relevant jargon. "Sasha Belov's D-value is three tenths higher than Semyonov's in this event," she pointed out.

"No," she said, stopping herself as something buzzed in her ear. She frowned. "It appears there's been a routine change submitted by Sasha's coach, Nikolai Gabordi. It looks like Sasha will be going back to his old rings routine rather than the routine we saw him perform in Team finals, helping the British team secure the silver at the start of the competition."

"I think that is the right decision," Andre nodded. "Those combinations can be dangerous even for an athlete at the top of his game. The Sasha Belov we have seen today is not up to that routine."

Jill's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And Fyodor Semyonov?" she asked, gesturing for him to elaborate on his thoughts on the other gymnast.

"He has been very consistent," Andre responded. "I would not say that he is the best gymnast in the World, but I think he will take advantage of that gymnast being off his game."

"I suppose you're right," Jill conceded. "The Sasha Belov we've seen today has been more like the Sasha Belov we saw earlier in his career – often marred by inconsistency despite his ability to pull big ticket moves when it mattered.

"I think many were surprised to see him win Gold in Athens," she noted. She paused as a familiar anthem rang over the stadium. "And now our athletes are ready to begin. First up we have Sam Hunter from Great Britain," she said enthusiastically.

Together they talked the crowd and those listening from home through the first six athletes until eventually Fyodor Semyonov, the favourite from Russia, took the floor.

"Both Sasha and Semyonov have a 7.0 difficulty on this event," Jill announced. "Until Sasha's performance earlier this week, that was considered, more or less the ceiling for difficulty on the still rings."

"There are few athletes that can reach that difficulty and still maintain the aesthetics," Andre agreed. "It is very interesting that although Sasha Belov and Fyodor Semyonov have an identical degree of difficulty, the routines you will see from them are very different. These are two incomparable athletes, simply in the way they are formed.

"Semyonov is shorter with a bulkier upper body, where as Belov is taller and more streamlined," he explained, noting the distinctively different builds of the two athletes. "Because of this, you will see each favouring certain elements better suited to their body types. For Semyonov it is the pure strength elements, where as for Sasha it is the kips."

"I suppose that must be what makes Sasha so entertaining to watch," Jill commented. "His routines are always filled with excitement, where as Semyonov's are impressive in a different way. The way he holds himself there with the press – he makes it look almost effortless."

Andre nodded. "A van Gelder," he offered. "Named after Yuri van Gelder."

"And now for the dismount, which he upgraded from a salto forward stretched with a full twist to two full twists in order to match Sasha's DOD," Jill said. "He swings back and releases and . . . doesn't quite make it all the way around to the second twist," she said, cringing on the gymnast's behalf.

"That will have to be treated as one and a half twists and he will be deducted for that landing," Andre explained.

"I'm really surprised to see Semyonov falter on the landing," Jill frowned. "Especially after such an incredible routine and what you were saying earlier about consistency."

"He is incredibly consistent," Andre reiterated, "but this dismount is at the edge of his limits and still somewhat new to Semyonov's repertoire. He is going to need to work hard to get the same consistency into that dismount as we saw in the rest of his routine."

"Well I guess we'll have to see what the judges have to say," Jill said. "We're looking at a 6.8 in difficulty rather than the 7.0 he would have achieved if he'd completed the second of the two twists. And an 8.525 for execution. It's not the 8.925 we saw in the qualifiers, but still a pretty good score giving him a grand total o f 15.325, putting him just ahead of teammate Aleskander Balandin.

"If Sasha can manage anything above an 8.4 in execution, he may still have this," she noted, hope seeping into her voice. "And here he is taking the floor."

"He is looking much more _assuré_than what we saw earlier today," Andre said positively.

"You're right," Jill agreed. "It looks like he's got some of his old swagger back," she joked. "And here we go, staring with the inverted cross, which he holds beautifully.

"You can really see what you were saying about the difference between Sasha and Semyonov," she continued. "He looks incredible, but you can really see the muscles in his arms and shoulders working in a way you don't see with Semyonov."

"But you also see that excitement," Andre reminded her. "Especially in this next element named for Jury Chechi – The Lord of the Rings. This is a rise to a counter salto. We can see the momentum building in this routine in a way you don't see in Semyonov or really any other athlete aside from perhaps the US Champion, Austin Tucker."

"Austin Tucker who we've seen in the crowds all this week in support of his biggest rival," Jill added. "I do love watching him perform," she continued, returning back to the topic of Sasha's performance. "It really is building to something – each move is better than the last. Like this," she said as Sasha swung around in an impressive display of skill.

"A stretched double felge backwards," Andre supplied when Jill gestured towards him.

"And, of course, Sasha's dismount – a _triple_somersault, backwards off the rings," Jill said, holding her breath as they watched him perform three complete revolutions before landing surely on his feet. "Which he lands flawlessly," she cheered.

"Legs together, no balance check," Andre said to indicate his agreement. "You'd hardly realize that this is one of the most difficult dismounts in the code of points."

"I'm no expert," Jill continued, "but I'd say that was exactly what we were looking for Sasha Belov to bring today."

"I agree," Andre said. "It was much closer to the Sasha Belov we saw earlier this week. The execution was, I think, exactly where it needed to be to win this event. Perhaps even by a sizeable margin."

"It does look that way," Jill nodded. "7.0 for difficulty and . . . yes, an 8.695 for execution, giving him a total of 15.695. That's nearly four tenths ahead of Fyordor Semyonov.

"How often do we see margins like this, Andre?"

"Not often," he agreed. "I feel as though Sasha Belov just gave the performance of his life, especially after what we saw in vault finals. It was almost as though he wasn't present, just letting his body perform from memory. You really appreciate exactly the kind of athlete that Sasha is – going from that performance to this. It is a feat I think very few athletes could replicate."

"Indeed," Jill added. "I think it will be interesting to see how Sasha accounts for that."

* * *

_"We just landed,"_ Howard said, calling from a private airport in Candillargues. _"We've got to wait at least an hour before we can take off, so there's no hurry."_

"So no getting out of the press conference?" Sasha surmised painfully.

_"No,"_ Howard said firmly. _"I'll send someone to the hotel for your things, so you can just come straight here when you're done."_

Sasha sighed. "Thank you for this, Howard," he said gratefully. "I owe you."

_"I know," _Howard said, a grin in his tone. _"We'll work out a payment plan later."_

Sasha chuckled weakly as he put his cellphone away, filing into a small room where the press were eagerly awaiting him and calling his name.

**"Sasha Belov, to what do you attribute todays performance?"**

There was a clamour of agreement as the question was asked, the room full of press from various countries eager to know the answer to that same question. He'd known the question was coming, and so had prepared himself to reply.

"I just had a bad day," he said into the microphone. "My head wasn't in the right place today, and unfortunately that impacted upon my performance. It happens sometimes."

**"Does that mean you weren't thinking about the competition? What were you thinking about instead? Was it Payson Keeler?"**

"I'm sorry, it's a family matter," he said firmly, making it clear that he wanted the topic drop and throwing them off the scent regarding what had really been on his mind. It wasn't strictly a lie – Payson had become very much a part of his family of choice, as opposed to his family of blood. "I can't say more than what I've already said."

They, thankfully, dropped the topic and he was able to continue through the rest of the press conference with far less intrusive questions. He withstood the whole affair with a painted on smile, feeling relief coursing through his veins nearly an hour and a half later when he found himself at Aerodrome de Montpellier, making his way towards the private jet awaiting his arrival.

He heard a familiar bark of recognition as he came close and a tri-coloured collie jumped out of the aeroplane, bypassing the majority of the steps as she raced across the tarmac. He bent to the ground, greeting the collie mongrel affectionately and scratching behind her ears.

"What are you doing here?" he asked rhetorically as she slobbered against his cheek and pressed her cold nose to his temple.

"You know I had to bring her," Howard replied on her behalf, standing beside the steps. "You really expect me to put _your dog_in a kennel, Sash'? Who knows how she'll fare in a place like that. All the other dogs will probably be jealous of her celebrity status and steal all her toys.

"She'll be dog mugged!" he said with an exaggerated gasp. "Do you really think I want to be held responsible for that?"

Sasha smiled a little, shaking his head as he came to his feet and continued his path towards the jet with Rassilon at his heels. "I really worry for you sometimes, Howard. I really do."

"ACHOO!"

"And this is Catherine Archer," Howard said, waving his hand with a disinterested gesture in the direction of a primly dressed blonde woman who had just exited the jet. "She's allergic to dogs.

"She's also supposed to be some kind of expert in Media Law – wrote a dissertation about . . . something that's unlikely to interest you. They insisted I bring her along," he said with a dry expression.

Miss Archer sent him a cool look, clearly as enamoured with Howard as he was with her. With a pointed sniff and only the briefest glance towards Rassilon, she offered a hand towards Sasha. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Belov," she said with a polite smile as she shook his hand, her face seeming to morph right before his eyes. "At Addis and Kent we always hope to ensure that our clients have the best possible people working for them, so I will be assisting Mr Bryson in any matter that may require my special attention."

Sasha looked towards Howard. "What exactly did you tell them this was for?" he asked curiously.

Howard shrugged. "I don't remember," he admitted. "Must have been damn convincing, though. Am I right?"

Catherine sent him one last withering look and headed back into the aeroplane.

As she disappeared, Sasha lifted an eyebrow at his friend, hinting for some kind of explanation.

"She's new," Howard shrugged. "Came to Addis and Kent because she thought it meant getting her hands on their sports and entertainment client portfolio. Didn't realize that you weren't included in it and without you that portfolio isn't all that enviable."

"Ah," Sasha nodded understandingly. "So why'd you let her come?" he asked, knowing that Howard had enough sway with the firm to be able to determine who his own co-counsel were, especially when it came to work that involved Sasha (mostly because Howard had let them assume that Sasha was a lot more particular and difficult than he actually was).

"Unfortunately she lives up to the hype," Howard grimaced, reluctantly complimenting his colleague. "She's the Queen of Defamation Law. I figured she might come in handy.

"And if she doesn't . . . then at least I get the fun of torturing her for a few days.

"Come on, girl," he grinned, tutting to Rassilon. "Let's go see if Miss Archer has any treats on her."

The collie eagerly followed him up the steps, unawares of her role in Howard's treachery. Sasha followed after them, hoping that between Howard's antics and Rassilon's companionship, the next ten hours would go by very quickly.

~ to be continued ~

I needed a break away from my paper, so decided to put the break to good use and update this rather than spend the time watching Blackadder (not to say that Blackadder isn't good use of my time). There's a nice little counterpoint in there between Payson and Kaylie and Sasha and Howard: same line different response.

* * *

**Notes:**

Men's gymnastics has to be the most difficult thin in the world to write. As to Sasha's vault, he still gets gold because he's that awesome. Also cos his vault is ridiculously high, so much so that he can practically do it without thinking, and his major competition on vault is outside of Europe (Japan and US). And men don't seem to get penalized as much for bad landings (apparently cos their centre of gravity is higher and therefore it is physically impossible for them to stick a landing).

* * *

**Translations:**

_Assure:_ assertive (French)


	43. Readying the Troops

Disclaimer: I don't own**MIOBI**.

**Just a Number  
**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Readying the Troops

_Grand Bohemian Hotel – Orlando_  
_May 13 2012_

"She said what!" Lauren asked, dismay reading clearly on her face. Payson had no need to repeat herself as Lauren continued. "That bitch," she muttered. "Who the hell does she think she is? I can't believe she _actually_ threatened you."

"Technically, I think it was a bribe rather than a threat," Payson pointed out unhelpfully, cringing a little at Lauren's typically dramatic reaction. They had gathered together in Lauren and Emily's hotel room after nearly a full day's practice in order to plan their strategies for how to deal with Ellen Beals until Sasha, Howard, and MJ arrived.

"It was more of the 'dump your boyfriend and I'll let you compete on Monday' variety rather than the 'dump him or else' kind of proposition."

"Does it matter?" Lauren asked giving Payson a look that said it didn't. It was semantics, that was all, and completely unethical either way.

"What exactly does she think she's holding over your head?" asked Emily, taking the news far more reasonably than Lauren.

"I really don't know," Payson said, sighing in aggravation. "Whatever she thinks the 'chink in my armour' might be. It could be anything for all I know." To some degree, it was that uncertainty that worried her more than anything else – she didn't like not knowing what to expect from someone like Beals.

"All I know is that she can't keep me off the Olympic team," she said, hoping that her friends wouldn't see the worry behind her bravado, "so I can't think of what else would matter unless she's planning to go after Sasha, but I can't imagine her even having that sort of sway with anyone related to Sasha."

"I think I might have an idea," Kaylie said in a small voice. She shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned upon her in the small circle. "She said something about the Calvin Klein campaign," she admitted. "That they were concerned about your 'mixed-loyalties'."

Kaylie ducked her head, avoiding the attention that was now honed in on her just the way she wanted. It was clear that Kaylie had been worried about revealing this news, but Payson remained unmoved by the full implications of Beals' threat. She simply set her jaw determinedly and narrowed her gaze.

"If that's how they're going to be, then screw them," she said plainly, eliciting a dramatic gasp from Lauren and giggle from Emily.

"They're Calvin Klein," Kaylie reminded her. "You don't just say 'screw them' to Calvin Klein.

"Pay, it's alright," she said gently, touching her friend's hand consolingly. "You don't have to pretend for us. I . . . I know how much you were looking forward to it," she added, feeling immediately guilty for the brief moment in time when she had been okay with taking that away from Payson.

"I don't want it that much," Payson said firmly with an annoyed scoff. "And certainly not if that's the price. If they have a problem with who I'm seeing then so be it. They're being complete hypocrites and as far as I'm concerned they can find themselves another spokes girl.

"Which they already have," she guessed, with a pointed look towards Kaylie. It wasn't hard to read between the lines and work out where Kaylie had gotten her information. Kaylie had been thick as thieves with the NGO ever since Payson's 'fall from grace' and if Ellen Beals really had an in with Calvin Klein, it didn't surprise any of them that Kaylie was up for the part once Beals had successfully gotten Payson out of the picture.

Kaylie shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. Lauren, who'd pulled more manipulative shit than anyone else Kaylie knew, had the gall to look appalled by the betrayal and Emily pulled her patented wounded puppy look, her eyes big and round and her bottom lips practically warbling with despair. But the thing that she couldn't stand was the understanding in Payson's muted blue eyes, and the small nod of her head that said, 'it's okay'.

It made it so much worse. Payson would never hold it against her – would never hate her for stealing the spotlight or for being handed an offer that was meant for her. And to rub salt in the would, it was more than evident to all of them that if their positions were altered – if Payson were the one being offered the Calvin Klein campaign as Kaylie's replacement because of something as petty as her love interest – Payson _would_ turn it down, because that's the kind of friend and teammate Payson was.

"I'm so sorry, Payson," Kaylie blurted, ducking her head in shame and twisting her hands in her lap. "For everything," she added.

"I was just . . . jealous," she admitted. She turned her face towards her looking embarrassed and contrite. "You had everything I wanted and it all came so easily to you."

Payson gave her a sceptical look, but tried not to be too judgmental. "When have things ever been easy for me, Kay?" she asked. "I almost killed myself for this sport. Almost drove my family into financial ruin. I had to pick myself up and relearn everything I ever knew in a little under the year with almost nobody there to believe in me.

"None of this has ever been easy," she said. "Not even being with Sasha.

"I know none of us get to have normal relationships, but you have no idea how hard it is to have to always say goodbye or to go months without seeing someone you care about," Payson said sadly. She felt Emily shift beside her, gently laying a hand on her shoulder to remind her that one person in the group did understand what she was going through. "You can't know what it's like to miss someone like that."

"I know, Pay," Kaylie said, taking one of Payson's hands in her own. "I know that now," she said, "but I didn't want to see it that way before. I guess it was just easier being mad at you than feeling sorry for myself."

"That I understand," Payson said with a weak smile, squeezing Kaylie's hand to let her know that all was forgiven.

"So does that mean you _lllluuurrrrvvvveeee_ Sasha?" Lauren teased playfully, breaking the sombre mood that had fallen over their pow-wow. The conversation between Payson and Kaylie was long overdue, and she and Emily had been getting ready to stage and intervention when they got back to Boulder.

Payson flushed under the suddenly inquisitive looks of her three friends and their knowing smirk, her cheeks turning almost scarlet with embarrassment.

"No need to answer," Lauren said, holding up her hand dismissively. "We can tell just by looking at you.

"Payson and Sasha up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," she began to sing, Kaylie and Emily joining in playfully.

"I have to go to the airport," Payson groaned, grateful for any excuse that would get her out of that room. She stood up, straightening her non-descript jacket and the grey woollen cap that covered most of her tell-tale blonde hair. "Are you guys okay to cover for me if Beals or Marty pop by?" she asked, raising her voice over their childish chorus. They nodded, but continued to sing.

"Give Sasha our love," Lauren called brightly as she left. Payson was sorely tempted to turn back and pull an indelicate sign in Lauren's direction, but settled for slamming the door very loudly as she went.

With a great deal of stealth (slamming doors in Lauren Tanner's general direction aside), Payson made her way down to the lobby and towards the waiting car that she had discretely arranged with the concierge. He hadn't seemed to think anything of her request, or her request for_delicacy,_ simply nodding and assuring her that things would be done with a great deal of_circumspection_. She'd simply have to put up with his knowing looks in exchange for his discretion.

It was a short drive to Orlando Executive Airport, which was practically walking distance from the hotel and catered almost exclusively to small jets like the one Sasha would be arriving in. The driver waited outside while she went in to see how long it would be before Sasha's arrival, making her way towards a small information kiosk.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, plastering on a bright smile for the middle-aged man behind the desk. Those sorts of smiles always seemed to work on men her father's age, and most people generally if she did it just right. "Where do I go to find out when a chartered flight is coming in?" she asked, twisting her hands together and looking endearingly uncertain.

He smiled gently, most definitely buying the act. "I can check it for you here, young lady," he offered kindly. "Where was the flight coming from?" he asked, suspecting she didn't know the charter number.

"Montpellier, France," she answered with a grateful smile and an apologetic shrug.

He typed quickly on a keyboard in front of him, frowning at the computer screen. "There doesn't seem to be anything going from Montpellier to Orlando," he said, his eyes flicking upwards. Her face must have looked more distraught than she even realized, as he looked nearly pained by her expression. "Hang on a second," he consoled as he typed furiously away at the keyboard. "There is one London to Florida with a stopover in France."

"That's it," Payson said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"They're just making their way through security," he assured her. "If you go down that way and turn left when you get to the food court, that'll be the best place to wait for them."

"Thank you," Payson said, sending him one last bright smile before she made her way in the direction he told her, towards a small obscure area of the airport, that was near empty except for one woman standing stiffly by a door bearing a cautionary 'no entry' sign. Payson almost physically shuddered at her frosty demeanour.

"Waiting for someone?" Payson asked uncomfortably, after several moments standing alone in frosty silence with the woman.

The woman turned in her direction, dark eyes skimming over her figure as she tried to determine whether or not the person beside her was worth talking to. This was clearly a woman who knew her designer labels, Payson realized, as the woman nodded appreciatively at her Burberry trenchcoat and Sergio Rossi booties. They were ordinary enough for her to blend right in to the crowd, if need be, but a seasoned eye seemed to know exactly what they were looking at.

"You could say that," the woman said in a very posh British accent, the designer brands and Payson's jeggings-trenchcoat ensemble deeming her worthy of conversation. "I'm waiting for my colleague and our client to get their fleabag through customs," she said, her nose screwing up in disdain. She turned to Payson, her expression indicating that the correct response in these circumstances was sympathy.

"Not a dog lover, then?" Payson asked, wincing a little on behalf of both the woman and the poor animal that had to fend against her.

"Not this one," the woman grimaced. "Huge, mangey thing that got hair all over my LV tote. But it's the client's dog, so what can you do?

"What about you?" the woman asked, lifting one perfectly shaped eyebrow inquiringly.

"Waiting for my boyfriend," Payson told her, unable to stop herself from smiling just a little.

The woman smirked knowingly. "Been gone for awhile, I take it?" the woman asked.

"Sort of," Payson shrugged, saved from having to say more by the exit-only doors opening to reveal two familiar men and a canine. She quickly shot off towards Sasha, not even sure if she called his name before throwing herself into his arms and kissing him soundly. Her hands slid up into his hair, dragging him towards her as she pressed up towards him, deepening the kiss and holding him tightly in place.

"I love you," she whispered breathlessly, her lips against his ear for a moment before she trailed her lips down his smooth jaw line back towards his mouth, kissing him even more fiercely than before.

She pulled away, moments later, with a bright laugh as she felt Rassilon nudge her head against her shins, angling for attention. "Hello to you too, Rassie," she beamed as she crouched down towards the mangey thing. Sasha crouched down with her, one arm permanently around her waist, as though he were unwilling to lose bodily contact with her.

"How are you?" he asked gently, the hand on her waist moving up and down in comforting strokes.

Payson tilted her head towards him, smiling wanly. "Better now you're here," she assured. She lifted a hand to his face and kissed him chastely. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Pay," he echoed back. "I should have just trusted you."

"Yeah," she agreed teasingly, "but I know you were just worried, Sasha, so I guess I can forgive you."

"You cheeky thing," he muttered, grinning as he shook her head.

"I'm sorry for calling you an asshole," she added, looking incredibly sheepish. "I didn't mean that." He nodded, having guessed as much.

"You know I'm still worried," he admitted lowly, inclining his head more towards.

"I know," she nodded. "I'll tell you everything and anything in the car." Acquiescing to her suggestion, he stood from their crouched position and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet and against his side so he could keep his arm around her.

"Miss Archer and I will follow," Howard said, deciding to give Payson and Sasha some time to themselves. "You know where to go?"

Payson nodded. "MJ gave me all the details," she responded. "She said she'll be there waiting for us."

"Good," Howard nodded. "Do you want me to take Rassilon?" he asked with a suspicious looking grin.

The woman from earlier balked at the suggestion. That was all it took for Payson to work out just what Howard was up to and decide to take pity on the woman seeing as Miss Archer looked flustered enough after her earlier faux pas. "We'll take her," she said, waving goodbye to Howard as she led Sasha and Rassilon through the small airport.

"So . . ." Sasha said emphatically once they were comfortably seated in the back of the hotel's town car, the partition raised between them and the driver for extra privacy.

"So, before I say anything you have to promise not to do anything stupid," she said seriously. "And speaking of which . . .

"How dare you let yourself do badly because of me," she said slamming one of her hands into his shoulder with enough force and abruptness to knock him back a little.

"I won two gold medals," he said in his defence.

"Only just," she replied with a stern look. "You almost fell face first on your vault, Sasha, and it would have been silver if Semyonov had completed his dismount as intended."

"Look, I just – "

"I know," Payson said, waving her hand to indicate that he didn't need to explain himself. She understood what had happened and she certainly couldn't blame him for it – she doubted that she would have been able to come out of things with two gold medals with the way that she had been feeling all day. Her head had been all over the place in practice, and at least two of her routines had suffered for it. It had been one of the most difficult practices of her life, made that much worse but the smug looking grin Beals had worn from beginning to end.

"That's why I didn't want to tell you until you were done, but I still managed to stuff that up," she sighed, dropping her gaze guiltily. "I didn't want something that wasn't even your fault to mess with your gymnastics, but instead _I_ ended up affecting it."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," he pointed out. He cupped her cheek with his freehand, lifting her gaze back to his own. "If I hadn't been so concerned about disappointing you, I never would have gotten through that last routine.

"You inspire me, Payson," he said lowly, his thumb lightly tracing the apple of her cheek. She recognized the words – they were hers after all – and smiled at what they meant. As his hand shifted away, he moved forward and placed a light kiss in the same spot on her cheek. "_Te iubesc_," he choked quietly, knowing – at least subconsciously – that she understood the foreign words. "_Atât de mult_.

"Now, _dragă,_" he cooed lightly. _"_Tell me everything_."_

She nodded, taking a moment to put her thoughts in order herself before she went into the details of what Beals had said to her and what was apparently on the line if she didn't comply with the instructions to break up with him. Sasha sat back and listened, his arm firmly around her as she spoke, his presence alone enough to assure her that everything would be alright in the end.

"Maybe we should, just for a little while," he suggested cautiously, making sure they considered all their options. "Just until the pressures gone."

She glared at him and shook her head. "This is what I mean by something stupid," she said with an expression so deadly serious that he couldn't help but break the serious mood that had fallen upon them with a broad grin.

"Don't be too quick to dismiss it, Pay," he said seriously, the smile dropping off his face. "The press have been ruthless over the invitational and it's only going to get worse if she manages to follow through on the rest of her threat.

"I've been there," he reminded her, his own media difficulties after the split from IMG too fresh a memory. "It only takes one sponsor to drop you, and then the rest of them start looking at you like maybe there's something they missed and they're dropping like flies. You might not care about one lost campaign, _dragă_, but when it turns into ten or twenty, it hurts."

"I can live with that," Payson shrugged, doing her best to assure him that it wouldn't matter to her.

"I don't care about any of that," she told him firmly, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't get into gymnastics to be a celebrity, and I won't let Ellen Beals or anyone else dictate how I live my life.

"You're what I want," she said, her gaze softening, "and I'd rather have twenty or thirty sponsors drop me than live with the alterantive."

"It doesn't have to be real," he put in, not quite giving up on the possibility. "We could –"

She cut him off with another stern look. He smiled wanely and raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't you think the media will be just that much worse if we did break up?" she asked, her tone slightly condescending. "How many of my sponsors do you think are only interested in me because of our relationship?"

Sasha didn't even miss a beat before responding with a firm, "None of them.

"They're interested in you because you're beautiful and charismatic and talented and when you smile you shine brighter than anything I've ever seen," he said with a wistful smile, sliding his hand against her cheek and giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "That has absolutely nothing to do with me."

She raised an eyebrow at him sceptically. "I was charismatic and talented before Worlds," she said drolly, just barely accepting charisma as a compliment and purposely dropping his mention of beauty. Even after all this time she still struggled to see herself in the same way he did. "I made more money last month than I did in the whole of the last year."

"Blind idiots," he accused. "I promise you they're kicking themselves for not seeing it sooner." He kissed her again briefly, as though to seal his belief in his own words.

Payson sighed and shifted in her seat, turning her body so that she could curl into his side and rest her head against his chest. His arm automatically circled around her, pulling her closer and making her feel as though nothing could harm her. "Beals is relentless," she said quietly, pressing her ear to the left side of his chest so she could hear the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath her. "I doubt it would be enough."

"It would be enough for now," he answered, although the argument was weaker than it was before. "Just enough to give us time to plan and set up some defences."

"Somehow I think that woman is too cunning for that," she said tiredly. "I have no idea what she's capable of, but I don't doubt that she would already have a contingency clause in play just in case we tried to double-cross her."

He frowned, hearing the anxiety and exhaustion weigh heavily in her voice. "She's really rattled you, hasn't she," he noted, feeling her press more firmly into his side as she spoke.

Payson nodded against him, admitting for the first time just how much Beals had gotten to her. She'd played it cool for her friends and led them to believe that she wasn't worried, but the truth was that she was terrified of what Beals might do.

"For a moment I thought she _knew_ about Nationals," she said meaningfully, knowing that Sasha would understand what she was referring to; illegally buying cortisone from one of her teammates. More than anything, she was worried about that information getting out and what that would do to her career _as a gymnast_ once it was known that she was willing to go to such means to be the best.

"She talks like she had something big to use against me – something bigger than some petty campaign that might mess with my head a little," she explained.

"I can live without all this," she said again, waving a hand in a vague gesture. "The campaign doesn't bother me, but what if she has something that can keep me from going to the Olympics?

"What if she knows?" she asked him helplessly.

Sasha frowned, taking a moment to really consider what she was saying before answering. He could read the fear evident in her expression and did his best to reassure her. "If she could use that against you, she wouldn't have to resort to threats or blackmail," he said eventually, genuinely believing there was at least some truth in what he was saying to her.

"You're safe, _dragă_," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling her almost completely into his lap and cradling her against him.

She breathed deeply, the spicy scent of cedar and citrus settling her. She still had no idea how things would turn out or what exactly Beals was planning, but at least for the moment, right there in Sasha's arms, she was safe.

~ to be continued ~

Yay for Sasha and Rassie being back. And for Sasha finally saying 'THE WORDS' even if they weren't in English, but they still totally count, right?

Well . . . let me know what you think about this one.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

_Te iubesc. Atât de mult_: I love you. So much.


	44. Where We Stand

Just a Number - Where We Stand

_IMG Offices – Orlando Branch_

"Why is there a dog in my office?" MJ asked, her lips curled back in disdain as she gestured disgustedly towards Rassilon. The dog wagged her tail excitedly, not seeming to understand that MJ's gesture was one of criticism and not camaraderie.

"Margaret, meet Catherine Archer," Howard said glibly, tapping his colleague on the shoulder. "I think you two will have a lot in common."

"Charmed," MJ said drolly, holding out a hand to the prim blonde woman. "And who are you exactly?"

"I'm a junior associate at Addis and Kent specializing in Media Law," she explained self-importantly. "We were told there was some sort of media crisis to deal with, although now I'm not so sure," she said with a glare towards Howard. She was beginning to get the impression that this was just Howard giving his 'mate' free reign over the firm's jet so he could drop in on his girlfriend whenever he liked.

"Oh no, there is a crisis," MJ assured her, "although I hardly think your services will be needed.

"As much as it _pains_ me to admit it," MJ continued exasperatedly, "I may actually need Bryson's help to pull this off."

"Did not see that coming," Howard muttered under his breath, leaning towards Sasha to share his thoughts. He'd expected to see two of his least favourite people bonding over their mutual disdain and agenda to make his life a living hell. Instead he saw Catherine Archer bristle under MJ's cool appraisal, and smiled to himself, enjoying it far more than was technically professional.

With a sigh, and one last disdainful look at Rassilon, MJ took a seat and gestured for the others to do the same. The office was somewhat casual, set up with several comfortable chairs and couches around a low table, rather than straight backed chairs at a formidable desk. "Before we start, can I get any of you something to eat or drink?" she began politely, narrowing her eyes in Howard's direction and just daring him to ask for something ridiculous.

"Can we get a bowl of water for Rassilon?" Payson asked. She doubted that the request would have been well received from either Sasha or Howard, so took the initiative herself. She was, after all, one of MJ's top earning clients, and the sports agent could deny her nothing.

"A pot of tea wouldn't go amiss," Howard added.

"Not the way they make it," MJ grimaced. "You're better off without it." She pressed a small button on the intercom and put in her request, ordering the tea despite her warning.

"I assume we're all aware of recent events?" MJ asked in a business like tone. Sasha and Howard both nodded, Sasha and Payson having filled Howard in while they waited for MJ.

"Well, that saves us having to go over that," she noted. "After some careful consideration, I've decided that the best plan of attack is to 'guilt' Calvin Klein into performing the contract."

They all stared at her, waiting for her face to crack into a grin as she told him the real 'plan of attack', but MJ continued to look very serious and professional.

"And how do you plan to do this?" Sasha asked, the first brave enough to question her.

"So glad you asked," MJ said with a false smile.

"We're going to use the 'good behaviour clause' against them," she said with a smug expression. "In an effort to draft the thing as broadly as possible, it says that Payson can be replaced at any time if the company feels that she no longer encompasses 'the Olympic Spirit'."

"That can't hold up in court," Howard scoffed.

"It can," MJ assured him. "Ask your little media expert," she said with a dismissive flick towards Miss Archer.

"It will," Miss Archer said, quick to put in her opinion once requested. "The precedent in media contracts favours the drafter and so long as they can point to a widely accepted and clear meaning it will pass the test for certainty. It gives the company almost unfettered discretion so they can 'fire at will'."

"Okay," Howard conceded, "but if they've got that on their side, how exactly do you plan to use it against them?"

MJ grinned, looking almost malicious as she thought of her plan. "We're going to showcase the two of them together in a campaign that really does encompass 'the Olympic Spirit'," she grinned. "One so sympathetic that Calvin Klein won't dare to try and enact the clause.

"Now, Ms Archer," MJ said, turning again to the media expert at the table, "what would you consider the definition of 'the Olympic spirit'?"

Miss Archer paused to consider the question. "Working towards a common goal," she suggested thoughtfully. "Solidarity and sportsman like behaviour.

"Building a better world together," she added, remembering some of the slogans that were being thrown around as London prepared for the Games.

"Building a better world together," MJ repeated. "Like a global call to action."

Howard nodded as he recognized the phrase, looking mildly impressed with MJ's scheming. "I suppose this is where my skills come in handy?" he asked.

There was a knock on the door, and MJ got up to let them in. A tray of tea was placed on the table and a water bowl beside Rassilon before MJ ushered them out.

"Unfortunately," MJ said as she turned back to Howard. "You're the one with the contact."

"Am I the only one who's lost here?" Payson asked, raising her hand. She frowned a little, her own accent sounding strangely foreign after having heard nothing but British accents for the last thirty minutes.

"You've heard of 'Make Poverty History'?" Howard asked.

Payson nodded, vaguely remembering seeing the campaign about six years ago and a drawer full of white bands. Sasha, from memory, had been one of their celebrity endorsers – she and Lauren had bonded over the fact that they both had the black and white poster on the front of their binder when she first came to Boulder.

"The campaign was organized by a larger group called The Global Call to Action Against Poverty," he explained. "MJ wants you guys to do a white band shoot," he said, glancing at MJ for confirmation. "Together you represent two of the most influential nations in the world – it's kind of a nice metaphor."

"So," MJ cut in, looking at Howard, "if you can get your contacts at GCAP to agree, I've already got Griegor Murphy and the set team on site to do this."

"They'll agree," Howard said quickly. "They're gonna love the idea."

"Okay then," MJ said determinatively. She stood and pointed to Sasha and Payson. "You two with me," she said before looking at Howard and Ms Archer. "You two stay here and get things in motion. This picture needs to be viral by tomorrow morning.

"Leave the mutt," she said with a glance at Rassilon. "No, bring it," she added at the last minute. "We'll get some candid shots for later."

Sasha and Payson followed behind her with Rassilon as she swept out of the room, both of them looking somewhat cautious. "I've never heard the word 'candid' sound so ominous," Payson admitted.

"No," Sasha said with a grimace. "You know I'd almost be mad at all the scheming if it wasn't such a genius move."

"Very true."

She frowned for a moment, before she spoke again. "For a moment I was worried she might agree with you," she told him, "about it being easier just to break up."

"Me too," Sasha admitted, squeezing her reassuringly. "Fortunately, it wasn't an option we had to take," he added in a brighter tone, turning his eyes away guiltily as the possibility still lingered in his mind.

"Do you think it will work?" she asked him. With everything else happening, she didn't notice the brief slip.

"I don't know," he shrugged, knowing about as much of this side of things as she did despite several years more experience. "Howard seemed pretty certain, and I trust his judgment."

"Okay," she nodded, given all the reassurance she needed.

_May 13 2012_

_**Make Poverty History**_

_So pictures are _finally_ up for Sasha's white band shoot for this years 'Make Poverty History' campaign. There are a few solo shots, but I must admit that the ones I was most looking forward to seeing were those with Sasha's gorgeous girlfriend and fellow competitor, Payson Keeler._

_And they do not disappoint. Sasha and Payson _Make Poverty Sexy!

_Now I know there are people out there who are going to hate it – I can already hear them warbling on about how shooting them together is just going to detract from the cause. To them I say, "Meh." We've got two people from different countries and different backgrounds working together for a meaningful cause. The fact that they're dating (and look incredibly stunning when photographed together) certainly doesn't detract from that._

_Personally, I love the pictures and I love that they're involved in this together. The Global Call to Action Against Poverty is a great cause that Sasha has been involved with right from its conception back in 2005. The more attention that is brought to it, the better, and hopefully that will see us all building a better world together._

_Check out the pictures at and don't forget to DONATE!_

_Grand Bohemian Hotel – Orlando_

"Oh wow," Lauren and Emily awed as they double clicked the link on Sasha's fansite taking them to the GCAP page. The link took them through to the twelve final proofs that were presently being turned into one of the most speedily prepared campaigns in history.

By Monday morning the pictures would be plastered all-over London in every tube station, shop window, and notice board across the city.

By midnight they'd be stopping the presses of every gossip mag eager to put the pictures in their society columns.

Within an hour they'd have spread to Google ads and be a top hit in every search engine.

And within ten minutes they'd be posted on every social networking site in current existence. Mostly thanks to Lauren's intervention.

The pictures in question were gorgeous, poignant black and white shots typical of the campaign. The first five were of Sasha alone, looking handsome and stoic in a grey t-shirt and jeans with thick white bands around his wrists. The next three were of Payson, posed against a doorframe in just a black tank top and long shorts, her expression almost haunting. The remaining four were of the two of them sitting together, staring unwaveringly at the camera as they proudly displayed the white bands on their wrists.

"You guys look incredible," Kaylie said as Lauren clicked again to get a closer look. The image filled the screen on Payson's laptop as she tried to bury the jealousy that still twinged in her chest, focusing instead on how amazing her friend looked and how happy she was that there was a way to fix it.

The image they were looking at was set to be the lead shot of the campaign once it hit Monday morning. Payson was positioned in a tuck sit, one leg stretched out in front of her and the other bent towards her chest. Her body was reclined back against Sasha's chest and her hands joined around her knee. Sasha sat behind her, his body caged around her and his chin nearly against her shoulder. Both their gazes were directed forwards – Payson's eyes firmly on the audience, while Sasha's drifted slightly downwards to where his hands folded with hers. The image presented was beautiful, if for nothing more than the genuinely loving expression on Sasha's usually cool features.

"I'm totally tweeting about this," Lauren announced as she took her Blackberry in hand, ready to move it out of the way with lightning fast reflexes if Payson tried to stop her. "I mean it," she added, giving Payson a very determined look when no such interruption was forthcoming. There was no time in her memory when the phrase 'I'm totally tweeting about this' had not been met with protests and a fierce attempt to wrestle the phone out of her hands before she completed the message.

"Seriously, Pay? Don't tell me you're giving up that easily?" she frowned.

"I'm not giving up," Payson replied firmly, grimacing as she prepared herself for the next words she was to speak. "I'm . . . giving you permission," she sighed, the words sounding as foreign to her as they did to Lauren who gaped in surprise.

"You're giving me permission to tweet about you?" she checked, very nearly ready to check if Payson had gone ever slightly mad.

"I'm supposed to encourage you, but I old MJ that wouldn't be necessary," she explained further.

Which all the encouragement Lauren needed. She immediately began working on a far more elaborate message, setting it up to re-tweet automatically through her back-up account, post to her Facebook page, and to share the message with all her circles on GooglePlus. She made sure she had every social network covered, even posting to the now more or less obsolete mySpace and Bebo.

"Encourage?" Emily questioned as Lauren frantically began texting people in her social networks to spread the word.

"Yeah," Payson said, cringing as she watched Lauren ensure total proliferation. "MJ wants as many people as possible talking about it. You're all free to tweet and plus one about it as much as you like."

"I'll text Damon," Emily offered, pulling out her phone. "If he links it on his page you'll have his entire fan base talking about it."

"Thanks, Em," Payson said with mixed emotions. She was truly grateful for the efforts her friends were going to, it was just hard to find congruence with the fact that this was something she'd usually despise.

"I can get Leo to pass it around," Kaylie suggested. "He'll get it on the college network."

"Won't people think it's weird him posting about something like this?" Payson checked cautiously, not wanting it to look like the set up it was.

Kaylie shrugged. "He's in a lot of political groups. He did that aid thing last summer, remember? He's into helping the developing world and stuff."

"How about Austin?" Emily asked, glancing up from Damon's message.

The room seemed to still a little with her words, even Lauren slowing down her frantic texting and emailing to shift awkwardly in her seat.

"Oh look, Nastia totally just commented on my tweet," Lauren burst out excitedly, relieved to have something to change the subject. "She love-love-loved it and she just shared the link on her facebook page."

She paused, directing her browser to Nastia Lukin's facebook profile. "AND she just tagged Shawn Johnson in her post," she said with barely contained fangirl hayaan.

"Are you serious?" Payson asked, the prospect of past Olympians still the best means of catching Payson's attention after all this time. She clamoured over to Lauren's side, trying to read over the other blondes shoulder as Lauren purposely shielded it in retribution of all the times that Payson hadn't let her tweet about her in the past.

"It says 'I'm sharing this link for the biggest PaySa fans I know' and that's where she tags Shawn Johnson. This is so cool," Lauren finished enthusiastically.

"If by 'cool' you mean 'embarrassing'," Payson muttered, her cheeks flushing with heat. She couldn't think of anything more humiliating than celebratory couple names.

"Don't' be such a downer, Pay," Lauren admonished. "Have you even looked at these yet?" she asked, gesturing to the still open laptop. She clicked onto another page, filling the screen with Payson's expressive face.

"You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed of here, Payson," Emily put in, stepping close to Payson and putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Certainly not the fact that you're a total knockout," Lauren added.

"Yeah, well it's still something I'm getting used to, so can we just drop it for now?" Payson asked, shifting away slightly and refusing to look at her own picture. Her friends shared a confused look, but shrugged their shoulder in acquiescence, allowing Payson her own peculiarities for the time being.

"Anyway," Payson said, folding the laptop shut so she wouldn't have to face her 'sad-little-girl eyes' (Griegor's words) much longer, "It's almost bed check, so me and Kaylie should go before – " Her words were cut off by two very distinct knocks at the door. "Speak of the devil," she said glibly.

Kaylie was closest to the door and quickly fashioned an insincere smile before she opened it to an equally insincere looking Ellen Beals. "Payson and I were just about to head to our room," Kaylie told the NGO co-ordinator. "Emily just needed to borrow Payson's laptop," she added, gesturing towards the slim computer that Payson was packing back into its case.

"That's fine," Beals said plainly. "Lights out in half an hour," she reminded Emily and Lauren as Payson and Kaylie slipped passed to go to their room across the hall.

"Payson," she said, stopping them before they had the chance to get into the room unimpeded. "Kaylie, you go ahead. I just need to speak to Payson for a moment."

Kaylie gave Payson a look of sympathy, but compiled with Beals' directive, leaving Payson to deal with Beals alone. "What did you need to talk to me about, Ms Beals?" Payson asked, feigning ignorance.

Beals' eyes narrowed, clearly not buying Payson's act and not the least impressed by it. "I just thought I'd check how you were," she replied with false concern. "You seemed a touch out of sorts.

"I was worried something might have happened in your personal life," she added, her smile turning cruel and knowing.

Payson forced a smile to cover his disdain. "Thank you for your concern," she said insincerely. "It means so much to me to know how much the NGO care about my well-being.

"But it's really not any of your business," she continued darkly, not at all in the mood for pleasantries. "Or the NGO's. None of you have any right to be interfering in my personal life," she added, saying the words she would have screamed at Beals a day earlier if the whole surrealism of it all hadn't stunned her into silence.

"You never were going to let me compete," she guessed, spitting the words out like an accusation. "Except maybe to watch me fail. Because nobody could possibly compete under those conditions."

Beals' smirk confirmed Payson's guess. "Clever girl," she muttered acridly. "Although if I'd known you would have such an affect on Belov's performance I might have saved that hand for the Olympics."

Payson's hands tightened at her sides, her patience snapping at Beals' shameless self-congratulations. "Don't you dare bring him into this," she said harshly, her voice icily cool. "If you have a problem with me, then fine. Do your worst. But don't you dare try to hurt Sasha . . ."

Beals scoffed at whatever threat Payson was trying to make, knowing the girl had nothing against her. "I suppose I should take that as your answer," she said instead, giving her one last chance to change her mind.

"I suppose you should," Payson agreed, lifting her chin and setting her lips in a determined line.

"Can't say I'm not surprised," Beals mused to herself. "You've shown us time and time again that the only thing you care about is your own agenda.

"It's a shame," she added, feigning sympathy and disappointment. "You would have looked so nice in that 'Olympic Spirit' campaign."

"You know, I think I can live with that," Payson said plainly, hand on the door, ready to make her exit. "Good night, Ms Beals."

"Good night, Miss Keeler," Beals echoed back. "Pleasant dreams."

~ to be continued ~


	45. Nefarious Ways

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

Just a Number – Nefarious Ways

_UCF Arena – Orlando, Florida_  
_May 14 2012: Day 1 _

"Ladies," Marty began, gathering the team around him and getting his pep talk in before Ellen Beals tried to take the floor. He needed to keep them focused and on their individual events, and he wouldn't have Beals messing with that.

"I think we all know where we stand today," he continued, his voice low and intense.

"You have this," he told them firmly. "There's no question. Those other teams," he said, throwing a gesture towards where the French and Italian were gathered with their own coaches, "they don't even come close.

"All you have to do today is show up. No pressure," he said lowly. He put his hand out towards them, the seven girls putting their own hands out on instinct. "USA on three. One, two, three."

"U-S-A!" they cheered together, hands in the air.

"For everyone who has just joined us, we're here to today at an International Gymnastics event between Italy, France, and the United States," announced a young college student set up at a small stand decked out with the logo for the University of Central Florida student radio station, KnightCast. "I'm your host, Daniel Owen-Murphy, and I'd like to introduce you to my special guest-host Darby Conrad, coach of the UCF Knights Cheerleaders and two time Olympian."

"Hey guys!" the former gymnast said brightly. "Go Knights!" she cheered, pumping a fist in the air.

"I'm just so happy to be here today," she said, hunching her shoulders up excitedly. "The US girls are looking so confident and totally empowered. There's an almost golden aura around them. Can you feel that energy, Danny?"

"Daniel," he corrected blandly. "They definitely look energized," he conceded. "I must say that I'm a little disappointed with the line up today. After seeing the teams practicing here yesterday and familiarizing themselves with the equipment, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Payson Keeler's routines to keep her out of this competition."

"It's strategy," Darby assured him, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder affectively. "Gymnastics, much like cheerleading, is as much about mental game as it is about physical limits.

"It's like they're saying to the other teams 'we're so unimpressed by you that we're not even going to bother using our best player'," she explained. "That really messes with a person's head."

"That I understand," Daniel said thoughtfully, "but don't you think the alternate thing just undoes all that good work? It's like they're keeping her in reserve just in case it turns out that they've underestimated the other teams. It really undermines that confidence that they're presenting, making them look indecisive and hesitant."

"Oh my gosh! Darbs is here!" Lauren said excitedly, waving at the dark-skinned co-commentator. "I'm gonna go say hi," she added, bouncing over towards the radio station's desk.

"Darbs?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow at Payson and Kaylie, who didn't look at all confused by the weird handshake thing that their friend was now engaged in.

"Lauren's big sister from gymnastics camp," Payson explained blandly. "Why am I not surprised that she turned out to be a cheerleading coach?"

"She is a two time Olympian," Kaylie reminded her.

Payson just rolled her eyes. Although she usually had all the time in the world for former Olympians, Darby Conrad's sorority girl attitude left her with little patience.

"If you guys are scheming some scratch fest over here," Kelly Parker said, her sudden contribution making the three of the jump and turn quickly to face her, "I just want to let you know that this isn't a Disney movie and I'm not going to turn all 'bitch with a heart of gold' on you guys.

"I'm here to win," she said firmly, eyes narrowing before she flicked a hand dismissively to the other two teams, "even if these guys do suck."

Payson choked back a snort at Kelly's blithe attitude. She almost expected the petite brunette to start quoting the not-Disney movie she was alluding with a disinterested _"It's not called gym-nice-stics"._

"So do not even think about ruining my winning streak with your political agenda," Kelly said with a strong sense of finality. No one dared mention the tiny 'blip' in Kelly's winning streak known as the Pacific Rim Championship.

"I can honestly say that it didn't even occur to me, Kelly," Payson assured her openly. "I doubt it would do any good."

"Good," Kelly nodded. "And you'll tell that to Barbie when she's finished with Ghandi?" she asked, nodding towards Lauren who was doing some kind of weird meditation exercise with Darby.

Payson grimaced. "Please tell me she didn't say something to you," she moaned, already knowing the answer. Kelly wouldn't have said anything if Lauren hadn't already approached her.

"She wanted my help getting Tessa and Andrea on side," Kelly said, returning the pained expression. "I told her there wasn't a chance in hell that I'd comply with such a stupid idea, even if Beals is a total bitch.

"Now if you guys thought of something that might _actually_get her fired . . ." she added, heavily implying that she would be more than willing to offer her services in such an event. Lauren's 'let's scratch' plan was more likely to get Marty fired than Beals, and would ultimately reflect badly on them, risking their spots on the Olympic team. As they had no current qualms with their coach and their Olympic futures were still far from certain, it wasn't worth the risk.

"We'll keep you in mind," Payson promised, dismissing Kelly as Lauren returned.

"I'm super psyched for this," Lauren cheered, Darby's bubbliness infectious. "Anyway, I had this awesome idea – "

"No," Payson cut in before Lauren could start on the details. "No scratching," she elaborated. "You go out there. You do your routines. And if need be, we'll find a way to get back at Beals later."

Lauren pouted, clearly not wanting to give up on her plan that easily. "Are you seriously telling me you want to lose on beam to Louisa de Pont?" Kaylie asked her friend, huffing slightly.

Lauren scoffed. "No," she admitted reluctantly. "She can't even land an aerial walkover. On floor."

"There you go," Payson put in. "No scratching or Louisa de Pont goes home with your beam medal."

"Fine," Lauren sighed. "Parker's such a bitch she'd never agree to it anyway." Payson sent her a dry look and Lauren did her best to look innocent. "Rock on?" she asked, throwing her hand out in an attempt to change the subject.

The three girls rolled their eyes, but smiled at their teammate.

"Rock on!"

* * *

Beals was furiously pacing the empty hallway by the locker rooms, talking frantically on the phone to her Calvin Klein contact as her whole plan undid itself.

"You told me they were having concerns over her relationship with Sasha Belov," she said accusingly. "You said they were shopping for alternatives."

_"They were,"_ her contact assured. _"But that was last week. They changed their minds. It tends to happen with advertising."_

Beals scoffed derisively. "Don't tell me you all got sucked in by that stupid charity," she muttered blandly.

Her contact was clearly unimpressed by the insinuation. _"You realize we signed her up for a year,"_ the man complained. _"We can't just breach contract whenever we feel like, Ellen, and the only way out of the contract is that good behaviour clause. _

_"What do you think it's going to look like for us if we try to use it now?"_ he questioned sarcastically. _"It's like we're telling people that we don't think charity work in aid of the Third World is suitable behaviour for an Olympian. We can't take that sort of bad publicity after the recent sweatshop claims."_

Beals bit her tongue, holding back a comment that if they'd conducted their business ethically to begin with they wouldn't be in this mess. It would simply be too hypocritical from someone who liked to use blackmail and manipulation to control her gymnasts. "And suddenly you're willing to just accept the bad publicity that comes with associating yourselves with Sasha Belov?" she scorned deliberately. There was an awkward silence on the other end before she let out a pointed, "Well?" to prompt them.

_"They've changed their minds,"_ he said again. _"They think they can use them . . . together. MJ Martin talked to them this morning about a potential deal with both of them."_

"And you had nothing to say about that?" she questioned harshly. "I thought you were working against that. Taking the moral high ground," she added with a disgusted sneer.

_"It didn't work out,"_ he replied with a shrug in his tone. _"I did everything I could, Ellen. This was just – "_

She slammed her phone shut, not wanting to hear anything more. What was the point? She didn't need to hear any more excuses as her contact backed out of his side of their arrangement.

Her plans were obviously ruined. She'd made the deleterious mistake of underestimating MJ Martin and let some puny sports agent get the better of her. Her other contacts had not been swayed by talks of disloyalty, a lack of patriotism, and immorality, but Calvin Klein had been on the cusp of letting go right up until the point where MJ Martin smooth talked them back onside.

Her little puppet had obviously let slip about her promise, and word had gotten back to Payson in time to do damage control. Beals had almost expected as much – teenage girls were notoriously bad at keeping secrets.

So went that plan. It was back to undermining her from the inside and turning the National Committee against their own little protégée. It was rather a shame that nobody from the NGO had been around to see Payson's stellar performance at practice yesterday – nobody would have dared question the choice of alternate if they'd seen Payson simply going through the motions at practice, caught in her own melodramatic emotions.

But then maybe there was still hope, she considered as she spotted another figure at the end of the hallway, on his cellphone much like she had been earlier, only speaking in an aggressive foreign tongue. Perhaps there was one last card she could play before she had to resort to doing her own dirty work.

And all it would take was one little phonecall.

* * *

"There you are," Howard pronounced, finding Sasha in a lone corridor near the back of the arena. "Miss Archer's getting impatient," he said in explanation for his appearance and to hurry Sasha along a little so they could get back home as soon as possible. They needed to sort things on their end in England, just to make sure that everything went to plan.

"What happened?" he asked, noting his friend's grim expression.

Sasha grimaced, waving the phone in his hand as he answered. "Dad."

Howard's expression changed to match Sasha's, feeling pained on Sasha's behalf. "So what did_Belov Seniori_want?" he asked drolly, settling himself against one of the walls with his hands in his pockets.

The look on Sasha's face said it all – the firm line of his mouth, the ruffled hair from running a frustrated hand through it too many times, and the tired, sad eyes. "He called to show his concern," Sasha replied sarcastically. "And to congratulate me, of course, on beating the Romanians for the Team Silver."

Quite obviously, the exact opposite had taken place. His father, Dmitri Belov, had been ropeable, criticizing his performance and rehashing old arguments about disgrace and betrayal. And then he added a new verse about blaming his poor performance on 'family problems' when he was the only one to blame – when it was his lack of commitment, talent, and consistency which had caused the near loss, and nothing else.

Sasha didn't dare correct him, knowing his father would appreciate the truth even less.

His relationship with his father had been trying for years – since his parents separated thirteen years ago – and this was just another in a long list of reasons that Dmitri had to be disappointed in him. The only thing that surprised him about the phonecall was that Dmitri had taken the time out of his busy schedule to contact him. The crippling burden of his father's judgment and disappointment was a given.

"You know one of these days you're going to have to actually sit down with your father and settle all this," Howard warned him gravely.

"Not today," Sasha replied with an indifferent shrug. "Let's just worry about one relationship at a time," he suggested with a dogged look. The emotional rollercoaster of the last 48 hours – from the high of his competition win to the low of his exchange with Payson – was clearly taking a toll on him

Howard frowned, moving closer to his friend. "What's there to worry about?" he asked cheerily, his jovial tone straining with concern. "We've got everything sorted and Beals will have nothing to hold against."

Sasha said nothing, just brooding silently as he flicked his eyes up towards his friends.

"Dammit, Sasha," Howard ejaculated, reading his friends intentions in his desperate expression. "You're a fool if you think that's the way to handle this," he accused bluntly, making no attempt to soften his words.

"You're a fool if you think this is over," Sasha rallied back. "What happens when Beals starts planning her next attack? I think there are limits even to what you and MJ can talk yourselves out of."

"You're overestimating this woman," Howard insisted with a scoff. "She's not some all-powerful, malevolent force. She's just an administrator."

"An administrator that managed to convince the majority of the National Committee to name the World Champion gymnast an alternate in an International Meet," Sasha pointed out. "I don't really know what she's capable of," he continued solemnly, "but I know Payson's worried and_that_worries me."

"And you think ending things between you two is the way to deal with that?" Howard asked him snipely. He narrowed his eyes and made himself absolutely clear. "You're not breaking up for Ellen Beals' benefit."

Sasha glared back. "It's not for Beals," he practically hissed. "I'd be doing it for Payson. To protect her.

"The more I think about it, the more I think it's the right thing to do," he continued sincerely. "Payson's personal relationships might not matter to the sponsors, but being with me is affecting the National Committee's opinion of her – that's the only way that Beals was able to convince them to bench her."

Howard huffed in annoyance, finding himself out maneuverer by the painful logic of Sasha's argument. Beals had done exactly what he said she'd done, and the only thing that had allowed her to make that call was Payson's very visible relationship with someone they deemed unsuitable for _their _National Champion. Sasha was too undisciplined and outspoken for the girl they wanted to smile sweetly at cameras as she led them to Olympic Gold and followed the party line. The NGO's biggest problem was that they hadn't a clue who Payson Keeler _really_was.

"Payson's made her choice, Sasha," Howard said calmly as he issued his warning.

He slipped his glasses off and pulled a cloth out of his pocket, wiping the clear surface with an air of patience and indifference. It was a tactic he often employed in court or negotiations in order to stall for time, but here he used it to add poignancy to his words. "And if you try to change her mind and convince her that you're better off apart, you're only going to hurt her."

"Maybe it's better that I do," Sasha suggested pessimistically, Mark Keeler's words ringing like a spectre in his mind. "She'd understand."

"She wouldn't," Howard insisted, shaking his head at his friend's crippling martyr-complex. "Because it doesn't make sense. She'd think you were just using this an excuse to get out of your relationship because it suddenly got harder and more complex than you anticipated.

"Because that's what it looks like to me, Sasha," he said pointedly, "and Payson doesn't have thirteen years of experience to help her see it any differently."

Howard groaned in frustration, rubbing a hand to his temple. "There are better ways to handle Ellen Beals that don't involve letting her get her way and then hoping she keeps her word," he said firmly. "Less painful ways. Especially when we don't even know that it's a problem.

"Sash'," he said gently, "you can't blame yourself for this."

Sasha quickly glanced away, but not before his friend caught the guilt and sadness laden in his expression. As much as he had thought about it, this wasn't what he wanted – he didn't even really want to be considering it as an option. But he'd said from the start that he wouldn't get in the way of her dreams, and that was exactly what he was doing. His presence was hurting her – hurting her chances of making it to the Olympics – and while Payson didn't think she could live with the alternative, he knew he couldn't live with being the reason she got left behind.

"Payson shouldn't have had to go through any of this," he put in guiltily, slumping a little in defeat. "She's only in this position because of me."

Howard shook his head, determined not to let it come to that until they exhausted all other options. "Then we'll think of a way to get her back in the NGO's good books that doesn't involve breaking her heart," he suggested firmly. "Show them you're not as bad as they think," he added, something a bit more concrete developing in his head. He'd probably have to run it by Margaret, but it seemed like it could work.

"Just trust me on this, Sash', before you go and do anything rash?" he asked pleadingly.

Sasha sighed, but nodded his agreement, although he wouldn't give his resolve up so easily.

"I take it we're staying," Howard mused, watching his friend's response. Sasha forced a quick grateful smile that clearly said he'd feel better if they did.

It was probably best that they hung around, just while Beals was in striking distance, in the unlikely event that it all turned to hell.

~ to be continued ~

Obviously the Ellen Beals doesn't give up so easily. And Sasha's martyr-complex is showing up at the worst possible time.

* * *

**Notes:**

_Stick It!_ reference in there for those to whom it wasn't obvious. Like I could help myself.

* * *

**Translates:**

_**Belov Seniori:** _Belov Senior


	46. Breaking News

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

Just a Number - Breaking News

"Excellent work today, ladies," Marty said, giving each one a congratulatory pat on the back as they stepped past them onto the bus. "You too, Payson," he added even though she hadn't actually done anything more than sit on the side lines. He knew how hard that could be, sitting and watching with a plastered on smile while your team succeeded without your help.

"Tomorrow we hammer it home for the team," he said dramatically. The girls cheered in response.

"Now before we get on our way," he went on, mood instantly changing. "Ms Beals wanted a word with you." He smiled at the low murmur that was quite obviously a suppressed groan from his seven gymnasts – Beals certainly had no fans here.

"Ladies," she said with a smug smile. "You had a good day today. Obviously there will be a lot of attention from this, and I just want to remind you all that no media contact is to be done during competition without the NGO's approval.

"Is that clear?" she asked them.

"Yes, Ms Beals," they chorused together, the group simultaneously rolling their eyes.

"If that's all," Marty put in, "we're running a bit behind schedule so you're all going to have to go straight in and get ready for dinner. Everyone needs to be down in the lobby by no later than 6:45." With those final words, he took his seat and nodded to the coach driver to start moving. The individual competition had gone on longer than anticipated, despite attempts to streamline the competition by omitting the qualification round, giving them little time to get back to the hotel and prepare for tonight's socialization.

"You know they put the engines at the back of the bus," Kelly said informatively, turning in her seat to see The Rock girls squeezed together in the back seat. "If this thing explodes you'll be the first to go."

Lauren huffed annoyedly. "Seriously, Parker, just accept that you lost and get over it," she replied.

"I demand a rematch," Kelly sneered, her and Lauren back to frenemies after briefly putting things to one side in a show of solidarity against Beals.

"It won't help," Payson told her with a pitying look. "Em's like an RPS Jedi-Master. She never loses."

"I'm game if you are, Kelly," Emily offered, shaking her fist in challenge. Kelly accepted and the two spent the remainder of the bus ride continuing Emily's undefeated reign.

"Today was so awesome," Lauren gushed, still in her bubbly, peace-and-bunnies phase as the effects of Darby Conrad lingered in her system. "I bet everyone's talking about it," she said, going straight for her phone so she could read all the twitter comments directed at the phenomenal lead they'd taken in today's competition and how awesome her beam had been.

With Lauren and Emily both occupied, Payson turned to Kaylie who was seated on the end by the window. "Are you alright, Kay?"

"Hmm?" Kaylie asked distractedly. "Yeah," she said, waving off Payson's concern. "I just can't believe I messed up my beam like that," she went on, forcing a laugh to try and play down what happened. She had paused too long between elements and missed out on part of her connectivity bonus. In the big picture, it hadn't really made that big a difference to the results, but she still felt ever tenth of a point.

Payson sent her a sympathetic smile. "You still came second for all-around, Kaylie. That's nothing to turn your nose at," she commended.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about anything?" she offered. "You seem distracted."

"I'm not," Kaylie insisted firmly. "It's just this weekend," she added, the thought of Austin Tucker lingering in her mind as her conscience called her out on the lie. "And I'm – "

She was saved by having to try and explain herself further by Lauren suddenly interrupting her blabbering with a reserved, "That's weird."

"What's weird?" Payson asked, distracted by Lauren's interjection.

"Just some of the comments on my twitter page," Lauren said, her brow creasing as her finger tracing across the touch screen. "And by some I mean most and by weird I mean just plain nasty.

"I mean that was completely uncalled for," she said, glaring accusingly at the screen.

Kelly shifted her attention from the game (which had quickly evolved into Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock), moving towards her own smartphone and to the relevant social network to see what Lauren was talking about. "Whoa," she said, her expression a mixture of surprise and admiration. "Who'd you piss off, Keeler?

"The freakin' Queen of England?" she added, noting a prevalent use of British slang in the comments.

"It's probably just some of Sasha's fans," Payson shrugged, used to that sort of thing to some degree. She hardly paid attention to the media or what people said about her anyway, so what did it matter to her if some teeny bopper was spamming Lauren's twitter page?

"I think it's a bit more serious," Emily said worriedly, glancing quickly between Lauren's smartphone screen and her friend. "There are a lot of these, Payson," she said heavily, "and they're all saying some pretty cruel stuff."

"Like what?" Payson asked. A hint of worry crept into her voice as she analysed Emily's cautious, but clearly concerned reaction. From anyone else – from Lauren or Kelly – she'd have waved it off as dramatics, but she knew Emily to be the more level-headed member of their group and didn't expect her to freak out over something minor.

The three girls in the know shared a look, telepathically deciding whether or not it would be in Payson's best interests to know what they were seeing.

"Oh just tell me or let me read it myself," Payson demanded with a tired scoff, exasperated by their suddenly protective behaviour.

Lauren and Kelly looked at Emily, giving her the go ahead and nominating her as spokesperson. It was probably for the best, because Emily was the one most likely to play things down for Payson's benefit. "There's some saying that you're selfish and that you don't deserve Sasha," she said with a pained expression, clearly not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. "Some are just . . . you know generic, but mean. Personal attacks.

"There's a lot about Sasha," she said uncomfortably, knowing that would hit Payson the hardest.

"What about him?"

"It's not attacking Sasha," Emily replied, understanding what she was really asking. "Like Kelly said, it's you they seem to be mad at."

"Do you have any idea what you did?" Kaylie asked.

"None," Payson groaned tiredly. They'd only just come out of the last spree of drama and now this to contend with after everything else. "MJ will know," she said firmly, fishing through her bag for her cellphone, only to remember that she'd left it charging beside her bed.

"I got it," Lauren offered, scrolling towards the contact of their mutual agent as the hotel came into clear view. But she didn't get further than 'G', her position frozen and her mouth falling slightly open as they all laid eyes on the large crowd of media gathered around the hotel and pushing towards their bus.

"Remember, girls," Ellen Beals said with a cruel smile drawn on her lips as the bus came to a halt. "The NGO have made it clear that they don't want you talking to the press outside of pre-authorized sessions.

"This is a gymnastics competition, not a public appearance," she added, feigning NGO approved motives. "You do that on your own time."

They agreed, no one finding anything too suspicious in the extra emphasis she had put on their media silence. As much had been said to them before – especially after Saint Petersburg – and the NGO were at times strict about what information they wanted made available to the public. With a lot of the press still obsessing over the fact that Payson wasn't competing, it was mostly expected that the NGO would take steps to keep talk to a minimum.

Of course, that wasn't what the press were talking about this time. Tessa and Andrea were let though without any drama, but as soon as Payson stepped out of the bus – with the others close behind her – she was bombarded with never ending questions, each a heavier assault than the last.

**"Payson, why is Sasha Belov here in Florida?"**

**"What do you say to rumours that your relationship is on shaky ground?"**

**"Did you have something to do with Sasha Belov's second-rate performance in Montpellier?"**

**"What did you say to make things go so badly?"**

**"Was this all some ultimatum to force Sasha Belov to be here to bolster your image?"**

**"Did you intend to see him lose the European Championship? Is there something happening between you and Fyodor Semyonov?"**

**"Are you with Austin Tucker? Is that why he was in France and you weren't?"**

**"Have you been cheating on Sasha Belov with Austin Tucker – your boyfriend's rival and your best friend's suspected beau?"**

And there was nothing she could say to it – not with Ellen Beals grinning superiorly and reminding her in a low tone that the NGO wanted them to keep away from the press unless they authorized the contact.

"You did this," Payson accused in a low hiss, her eyes narrowed at the older woman. "What do . . . I . . . Why?" she spluttered, unable to put her thoughts into words.

Beals just smiled crookedly, her eyes gleaming with assumed victory. "You did this to yourself," she said plainly.

Payson gaped, wondering how anybody could possibly be so vindictive and sociopathic. It was clear form her tone and the look in her eyes that Beals genuinely believed her own hype – she thought she was doing her a favour and that this whole mess was of Payson's own invention. The woman deluded herself into believing she was blameless in all this.

"Payson, c'mon," Howard called, catching her elbow and pulling her slightly away from Beals as he drew her attention. He'd managed to make it through the crowd, and that at least was reassuring. With Howard on one side of her and Marty on the other keeping the press at bay, they pushed their way through the crowd to the hotel entrance, the sea of media turning into a blurry mess of unanswerable questions behind her.

Sasha collected her in his arms as soon as she made it into the lobby, his body caging around her protectively. She let herself embrace that safety, pulling her body as close to his as physically possible and burying her head in his chest. "It's okay, Pay," he reassured gently, holding her firmly in his arms.

"What happened?" she asked, lifting her face towards him. Her expression was wrought with confusion and dismay as she tried to piece together how things had gone so badly after all the efforts they went to the night before.

"Beals happened," Howard answered for him, his lip curling in derision as he nodded flippantly towards the manipulating witch.

Payson immediately felt Sasha tense under her hands and his grip tightened just that little bit further. She could read his thoughts in his body language – in his barely restrained anger and the way one of his hands fisted in her hair – and pressed her fingers insistently against him to rein him back.

His gaze shifted back to her in response to the fingers on his jaw line drawing away the tension. The expression in her eyes was desperate and conveyed a silent plea to just let it go – at least for now. The last thing they needed right now was the press catching her boyfriend trying to beat sense into a representative of the National Committee. Some things were beyond even MJ and Howard's combined abilities.

Sasha nodded his head, acquiescing to her silent plea, although the anger still remained. He had done this to her. He had made her a target for all kinds of things, even if it was Beals that had ultimately been the vehicle for their misfortune. The harpy of a woman who walked alway like she'd already won.

Beals eyed them all for a moment, almost looking disappointed for the lack of confrontation – it was, after all, exactly what she wanted. A confrontation would have worked very much in her favour, but seeing as that wasn't forthcoming she gave them one last snort of disdain as she shooed the rest of the Women's National Team up to their rooms and followed after them.

"This is my fault," Sasha admitted harshly, his expression grim.

"No," Payson disagreed, a lovely gentleness in her eyes. "Not even a little bit, Sasha," she added as her hands slid around his neck. Her fingers pressed at his nape, guiding him towards her as she shifted onto her toes and stretched upwards to meet his mouth with her own. Her lips brushed lightly against his, adding more pressure for just a moment before she pulled back, eyes shining with affection.

"I love you," she said, kissing him once more to reaffirm those words and the feelings behind them. This time when she pulled away, her eyes were hard and narrowed and her face set with determination.

She turned quickly, focusing on Howard. "Where's MJ?" she asked.

"She was with security trying to get rid of this lot before you got here," Howard answered. "She'll come back here soon enough."

Payson nodded, carefully thinking things through. "The NGO imposed a media ban – on Beals' recommendation I presume," she said eventually, her jaw tightening in frustration.

"They can do that?" Howard asked, surprised that the NGO had such power.

"They can," interjected Marty, who was still lingering nearby. "Payson, you need to get ready for this dinner," he said to her in a low voice. "With Beals on the warpath, there's no way I can get you out of it.'

"I figured," Payson nodded, still looking determined. "Find MJ," she said to Howard and Sasha, "and I'll meet you guys at her hotel room in ten minutes."

She shifted onto her toes and pressed a kiss to Sasha's cheek before stepping back and looking him seriously in the eye. "Don't do anything stupid," she warned him, her eyes knowing but her lips quirking with a hint of mirth. She kissed him once more before turning on her heel, everything about her radiating with the purpose.

Sasha felt his jaw go slack, the sight of her looking so aggressive and determined more than a little sexy. The sort of cautious trepidation she'd been showing towards Ellen Beals had given way to the powerful, confident Payson he was only really used to seeing in relation to her gymnastics. Ellen Beals had pushed too far, and now she had _this_Payson to deal with, who clearly wasn't about to go down without a fight.

Marty coughed pointedly, bringing Sasha out of his stupor. He gave both Howard and Sasha a stern look, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed them both warily.

"So is one of you gonna tell me what the hell is going on here?" he asked coolly, eyes narrowing as he spoke. "Or am I gonna have to beat both your asses?"

* * *

Kaylie accosted Payson at the door, dragging her in with half-garbled, "It's all over the Internet." The other five girls were all gathered around her laptop, eyes glued to the TMZ footage from earlier that day speculating about the current status of her relationship.

_"I don't know about you, Chad,"_ said one of the female hosts that Payson had no interest in knowing the name of. She paused as they ran through some footage from France – Sasha's near stumble on Vault – and paused at a close-up of Sasha's face. _"That's definitely the face of a man who has just had his heart ripped out and spat on and stomped into the ground."_

_"I always knew these two were going to end in disaster_," the man, presumably Chad, commented. _"I just didn't expect Payson Keeler to be the one doing the heart breaking, if you know what I mean."_

Payson scoffed, the whole thing far too melodramatic for her liking. Whoever the woman was had no idea what she was talking about, and no idea how to read Sasha. It was disappointment, not heartache, because he knew he could do better. They completely ignored Sasha's second event of the day, and how he'd come back to redeem himself with a pretty incredible rings routine given the circumstances.

"Turn it off," she said sharply, her stomach clenching in anger. "Ignorant bastards," she muttered darkly as she stomped towards the shared closet and pulled out the dress she had meant to wear to dinner on Saturday. Her friends and teammates looked on in surprise as she stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Mad didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling. Beals had taken things too far, and now they had to defend themselves to idiots like Chad and his brainless co-hosts who thought they knew something about them. About Sasha. They all sat there on their high horses assuming the worst of him and patronizing him with their false sympathy. All they cared about was their ratings and whatever the most recent, juiciest titbit of gossip might gain them.

Her friends were talking quietly amongst themselves when she returned – Tessa, Kelly, and Andrea having disappeared – and immediately stopped as soon as they saw her.

"Are you alright, Pay?" Kaylie asked gently, the first to brave conversation.

"I'm fine," she replied tightly. The three shared a look, none of them buying it for a second.

"Do you want to talk about things?" Kaylie tried again, more cautiously this time.

"No."

"Uh . . . okay," Kaylie said, properly rebuked, and glanced towards Emily, nodding to the other girl that it was her turn to try.

Payson sighed loudly and cut her off before she could begin. "I have to go see MJ," she said plainly.

"It's going to be okay, Payson," Emily told her weakly, the strain in her voice giving away her doubts.

"I know," Payson said coolly. "Because there is _no way_I'm letting Beals get away with this."

~ to be continued ~

And thus Beals' plan - simply to make things as painful and difficult for Payson (and Sasha) as possible.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translates:**


	47. Say Anything

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Say Anything

_Grand Bohemian Hotel – Orlando_  
_14 May 2012 9:20 pm EST_

"Where did you learn to tie a windsor, _dragă_?" Sasha asked, sensing the need for conversation as Payson anxiously straightened the emerald green tie, which had been chosen specifically to match the green in the peacock pattern of her dress. He stilled her hands as they moved up towards the knot, clearly moving towards loosening the thing and starting all over again.

"It'll be alright, _dragă_," he told her gently. "It will all work out."

"I know," Payson said, lifting her gaze from her work so that he could see the fire in her eyes. "I'm no worried about it working . . . I just don't like what you have to do," she explained, her expression turning grim for a moment, "and I don't like that it's all on you to fix it. I just feel so useless.

"I wish there was more I could do to help," she admitted with a soft sigh. "Which is why you need to let me do this," she said, tugging her hands out from under his and fiddling with his tie again, "because at least then I'm doing _something_."

He had to smile at her persistence, understanding why it was she needed to busy herself in this way. He was the same way – he couldn't just sit back and watch the people he cared about go through hell. It was what made this whole saga with Beals so frustrating. But at least now he was able to do something productive that might actually help, instead of just trying to keep it from imploding.

Which is why he was happy to let her tie and re-tie his tie to her hearts content until Howard ducked in to let them know that the press conference would begin in five minutes.

They walked out together, sharing a brief kiss before Sasha and Howard stepped up to the raised platform in front of the bay of media. Payson waited in the wings, unable to participate in the press conference due to the NGO mandated media ban. There was no way of getting authorization until the next morning and, with the way the organization was acting, breaking the ban was bound to go down badly. Howard and MJ were both firmly against letting the matter stew overnight, so it was left to Sasha and Howard to deal with as quickly and cleanly as possible.

A small podium had been set up on the stage, filled with microphones from various news related organizations. Howard stepped up first, giving a professional address to the audience gathered. "Thank you, members of the press, for coming this evening," he said, the sarcasm hardly traceable in his words. "Mr Belov will read a statement addressing concerns over his final two events at the European Men's Gymnastics Championship. He will then take a brief round of questions.

"I ask you to respect the fact that Mr Belov is a very private person," Howard added, his next words a clear attack on the media, "and he would not be sharing these details if it weren't for the assumptions being made about his personal life and the way those have reflected on the people he cares about.

"With that said," he concluded, taking a step to the side to allow Sasha to come forward. "Sasha Belov."

Sasha moved to the podium, taking one last glance back towards Payson. She smiled encouragingly, lifting a hand to her lips and blowing him a kiss that had him returning the smile. Then he schooled his features back to their usual stoicism before facing back to the media pool and reading out his statement.

"As I'm sure many of you are aware," he began solemnly, "I lost my mother to cancer several years ago. Her death was not quick or unexpected. It was long and painful and every day she got a little bit sicker."

His voice caught a little at the words, the memories suddenly far too real. He found himself looking back to Payson again. She had moved in closer, and he could see the tears lingering in her eyes as she clutched her hands in front of her mouth. If she could have been there beside him – if she could have taken this all upon herself – he knew she would in heartbeat. His mother's death was something he struggled to talk about even with those closest to him, even with Payson, let alone a group of strangers who would broadcast it all over the world.

Yet it was strangely cathartic. He felt as though he was finally letting go of some of the grief he carried around with him by telling his story to these strangers. Somehow that made it easier to tell, because they were mere strangers and what they thought about him didn't matter in the same way it mattered whether Payson could accept him with all the baggage and darkness he carried with him.

"Her last few months were spent in Marsielle," he explained. "And that's where she died, in a hospital about 100 kilometres west of Montpellier."

There was a quiet 'ah' from the group in front of him as a few in the crowd began to make the connection. Although it had been more than seven years, he hadn't been anywhere near that part of France since her death. He had spent much of the competition thinking about his mother, although he'd managed to find himself dwelling mostly on the good memories instead of the ones surrounding and leading up to her death. Not that the media needed to know that.

"I hope you understand that this is what I meant when I said my head wasn't in the right place on Sunday," he finished. "Instead of focusing on the competition and what I needed to do to win, I let myself get distracted by these thoughts and it impacted upon my performance. For this I apologize to my teammates and to my country, and assure them that it will not happen again.

"As I said," he went on, throwing the one barb that Howard allowed him, "it is a matter that I had not intended to make public, but current circumstances have made it necessary for me to share something I consider both private and personal. Thank you," he said, stepping away and allowing Howard to begin fielding questions.

He glanced back at Payson, shaking his head at her sorrowful, apologetic expression. This was not her fault and he wouldn't let her feel bad for what he had to do. If Howard was right – and he usually was – this would solve all their problems, and not just those currently prompted by Ellen Beals.

The first few questions were easily dealt with, the media seeming to take pity upon him because of what he'd shared and reluctant to say something that might be deemed upsetting or insensitive. Of course, they'd known that it wouldn't last and anticipated exactly what questions would arise.

"Angelique Mason, TMZ," a dark-haired woman introduced herself as Howard gestured towards her. "What do you say to address rumours about your relationship? What are you doing here in Florida if not to mend things with Payson Keeler?"

Sasha frowned at her, his expression clearly condescending. "There's nothing to the rumours," he said with exasperation. "I'm here because I had an awful day on Sunday and I wanted to see Payson. There's nothing more to it."

Howard leaned into the microphones, stepping in before Sasha's restraint failed and he said something more biting. "Obviously you and the followers of TMZ have never had a bad day in your lives, Miss Mason," Howard added scathingly on Sasha's behalf, playing the part of bad cop so that any negative press would attach to him instead of Sasha. "Or you wouldn't need to make such speculation about my client."

"But we have it on good authority –" the woman began to protest.

"On whose authority?" Howard asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I-I can't reveal my sources," the woman replied, withering under Howard's stare.

"Then that's all," Howard said stonily. "Thank you again for coming," he said, ignoring the mild protest that accompanied the statement. He gestured towards security, silently instructing them to make sure that the woman from TMZ didn't leave before he had a word to her about her 'sources'. Not that he didn't already know exactly where her information came from – partly Ellen Beals and partly her own twisted imaginings – but the proof would certainly come in handy.

Sasha went immediately to Payson, taking her in his arms. "Stop that," he admonished lightly, wiping at her tears with the pad of his thumb. "_Nu plânge, frumoasă fata mea,"_he whispered.

She smiled up at him, her expression so beautiful it nearly broke his heart. "Happy tears," she argued with a wet smile. "I'm just so proud of you, Sasha," she told him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him soundly before pulling away. "Thank you."

He struggled to find the words to say in response. As much as he wanted to brush it off as though it were nothing, he knew how much it meant to both of them that he had bared his soul in order to protect her. Everything he had in mind seemed so insufficient.

He wanted to tell her that he'd do it again without a seconds thought. That he'd do anything that was needed to ensure her path to the Olympics was as smooth and unimpeded as possible. He wanted to say that it was simply what he needed to do after bringing this harsh scrutiny of the media upon her, and that it was his fault that any of this had to happen at all.

But then she kissed him again and suddenly the words didn't matter.

* * *

_TMZ .com - SASHA BELOV Begs for forgiveness_  
_14 May 2012 10:17pm EST_

**_Sasha Belov_**_ was almost moved to tears this evening as he publically apologized to his teammates for his performance on Sunday at the European Men's Gymnastics Championship, which nearly cost England two gold medals. Sasha gave a sub-par performance at the event finals in Montpellier, just scraping by to win the gold on Vault and Rings._

_This poor performance, Sasha says, was due to personal reasons that he was unwilling to share. TMZ were able discover that Sasha had been distracted from the competition by thoughts dwelling upon the death of his mother._

_Sasha was reluctant to speak about his relationship with Payson Keeler, hardly addressing rumours that their relationship was on the rocks. There has been no word from Payson or her representatives as to the truth of these rumours._

_Sasha is currently in Florida where Payson is competing in an International Meet. Speculation continues over whether his sudden visit to the US is connected to his performance in France._

* * *

_ESPN .com – SASHA BELOV Reacts to attacks on girlfriend_  
_14 May 2012 10:05pm EST_

_Following rumours hitting the gossip channels of a possible split between gymnastics power couple, World Champions Sasha Belov (ENG) and Payson Keeler (US), the Internet was flooded with criticism of the pair. This community backlash, consisting largely of personal attacks and verbal abuse, were largely directed at Payson Keeler, with European gymnastics fans blaming Keeler for Belov's lack of focus on the final day of the European Men's Gymnastics Championship in Montpellier, France._

_Belov set these rumours straight this evening, forced to share personal details in order to prove rumours of a possible split unfounded. Belov had already said at a press conference following the competition that he was distracted by a private family matter. The personal attacks against Belov's girlfriend forced him to reveal that the source of these distractions was his mother's death. Belov's mother died in Southern France in January 2005, and this is Belov's first visit to the area since that event._

_The rumours of a split between Keeler and Belov, and the subsequent connection drawn between a split and Belov's performance at the European Men's Gymnastics Championship, would appear to be based on Belov's appearance in Florida shortly after the competition. Belov addressed this assumption by explaining that he simply wanted to spend time with his girlfriend after the difficult time in France and denied rumours of relationship troubles._

_Payson Keeler did not release a statement of her own, although she was present at the press conference to offer her support to Belov as he read through a statement explaining his thoughts at the time of the competition. Reactions from fans following the press conference were sympathetic and apologetic. A charity campaign involving the couple, which had been a target of the attacks on Payson Keeler, has been flooded with comments in support of the pair._

**_Related News:_**

_Olympians Take Action Against Poverty_  
_Sasha Belov Secures Six Golds in Montpellier, France_  
_Second Best: English Gymnastics Receives First Team Medal in Ten Years_  
_Nominations Open For Sportsman and Sportswoman of the Year_

* * *

_UCF – Orlando_  
_May 15 2012: Day 2_

"Mom, it's fine," Payson said doggedly as she paced inside the locker room at UCF, her friends and teammates looking on with slightly bemused expressions. "Of course they're still talking about it. They're TMZ. What else do they have to talk about?"

There was a brief pause followed by more pained looks on Payson's side. "Why do you want to talk to him?" she asked suspiciously, glaring as Emily barely stifled a laugh. "Then I'll let him know that you send your condolences.

"I can't just pass you on to him," Payson continued after another brief pause. "I'm in the locker room getting ready." There was another pause and Payson groaned in frustration. "I suppose you're right, Mom. Maybe I shouldn't be on the phone. I'll – "

She was cut off by something on the other end, which caused her to let out another frustrated groan. "I'm not giving you Sasha's cellphone number so you can tell him you're sorry for his loss," she bit out sarcastically. "Because I don't like the thought of you being able to contact my boyfriend at a whim. When did you become one of _those_mothers?" she accused vehemently, knowing that would be enough to end things. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Mom," she finished quickly, getting her words in before her mother made some renewed plea.

With a loud sigh, she threw herself uncomfortably onto one of the benches giving her three best friends a pitiful look. "When we get back to Boulder can one of you please try to convince my Mom that throwing a surprise birthday party is a bad idea?"

Lauren spluttered out a laugh, feigning an innocent smile. "Who said anything about a surprise party?" she asked with a quiet snort. "Maybe she's just . . . uh being motherly."

Payson raised an eyebrow in challenge. "My mother is the least subtle person I know," she deadpanned in response. "And while I appreciate the thought," she added more gently, immediately seeing that Lauren and her mother were in cahoots, "you know I hate surprises, Lo."

"Fine," Lauren conceded reluctantly. "We're still throwing a party."

"Fine. Just no surprises." She gave Lauren one last stern look to reiterate the point.

"So . . . TMZ aside," Emily said, quickly changing the subject, "is everything back to normal?"

Payson nodded. "Except from all the ridiculously nice things people are saying, it's all back to normal," she told them. "Damage control worked, so that's that part of Beals' scheming done with."

_'The other part . . ._' she thought to herself as she quickly turned from her friends to her other teammates. "Kelly, did you mean what you said yesterday?" she asked vaguely.

Kelly lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her, clearly intrigued by the question. "Yes the engine is in the back of the bus so you really shouldn't sit there unless you've got a death wish," she said plainly. "Geez, way to know your American History, Keeler.'

Payson rolled her eyes, ignoring Kelly's little factoid. "About getting Beals fired," she explained, a hint of urgency edging into her voice. "If I had something that might do just that, would you be in?"

She looked hopeful, knowing that she needed Kelly on side for this or it just wouldn't work. Without Kelly it would be far too easy for Beals to talk her way out of things and keep herself in top position at the National Committee, where she could manipulate things and force them all to play her games right up until the Olympics.

Kelly tilted her head indulgently, a sinister smile pulling on her lips.

"Like you even have to ask."

~ to be continued ~

So that's phase one of 'the plan'. For phase two we're going to have to get even sneakier. And will require a cameo from a much loved character from season 2.

* * *

**Notes:**

I think I might have been a touch harsh as to TMZ's credibility, but I love the contrast between the highly speculative, completely misleading version versus the genuine journalism version, and TMZ were as good a culprit as any.

I've made a change to when Sasha's mother died. She was diagnosed with cancer in September 2003 (closely followed by the Marty-Sasha-MJ debacle), but didn't die until just over a year later in January 2005. I'm not sure it makes too much of a difference this way, but I think I just really wanted Sasha's mum to be around to see him win a gold medal before she died.

* * *

**Translates:**

**_Nu plânge, frumoasă fata mea: _**No tears, my beautiful girl.


	48. Down for the Count

Edited 15/12/11: See notes below

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Down for the Count

The UCF Arena, which had been near empty during the previous day of competition, was buzzing with anticipation for the entrance of the American team. Very few of those present had an actual interest in gymnastics, but none the less, they crammed themselves into the moderately sized arena in the hopes of seeing something newsworthy or grasping their own fifteen minutes of fame.

"And now for phase two," Howard said gleefully as the three teams moved to their first apparatuses of the day. The US team were starting on vault, which would set them off with a significant lead right from the start, while France and Italy were starting on Bars and Floor respectively.

Sasha eyed him suspiciously. "And what exactly is phase two?"

Howard shook his head, giving nothing away. "You'll see, my friend," he said mysteriously.

* * *

"Hello, fellow gymnastics fans!" Darby greeted brightly with a bright cheer, co-hosting once again from the KnightCast radio booth. "We welcome you all today to the second day of competition between two European hopefuls and home girls, Team USA!

"Are these guys in for a great day of competition or what, Danny?" she asked, turning to her co-commentator who fought the need to correct her in front of prospective employers.

"Indeed they are," Daniel agreed. "Yesterday we saw the US take a practical sweep of the individual medals, even without the team's lynch pin, Payson Keeler, and her spectacular floor routine. Today we begin the team competition, with the US first on Vault and then Uneven Bars, two of their best events."

"Most definitely," Darby said with an exaggerated nod. "Especially with KP at the helm of the US team. That girl's got some moves on bars*. Not to mention an Amanar in her back pocket."

"This team has some of the best vaulters in the world, even without Payson Keeler's two vaults: a Tsukahara two and a half, and a hand spring on with one and a half twists, both in stretched position," Daniel put in. "Kaylie Cruz, World Bronze Medallist and Team Captain, throws a round off half on, pike front one and a half in this event," he said, reading the mouthful of a vault slightly awkwardly off of his cue cards.

He was saved by having to say more by Darby letting out an excited squeal and clapping her hands together in enthusiasm. "They're starting," she announced. "Tessa Grande is first up on Vault – probably the weakest vaulter in today's team, but cute as a button," Darby assured the audience.

"As this competition is run on the six-five-four formula, it's unlikely that her score will contribute to the team's overall score in this event," Daniel said drolly. "The problem for Tessa Grande is that there are already four better gymnasts on the US team in every event. She's outshone by both her teammates and competitors."

Darby looked crestfallen by the not unwarranted criticism towards a fellow gymnast, but sadly she had to agree. "She performs a nice, consistent handspring vault with a stretched salto, but she would need the rest of the team to do really badly for her score to count," she said. "A solid 14.5 with only a small deduction."

"Next up for the US, Andrea Conway. And if we look to Floor we have . . ."

* * *

Kaylie was the second to last American gymnast on Vault, flashing a sweet smile towards the judges as she raised her hands in salute. She performed a clean vault, much better than she had been for the last month and half fretting over stupid things like how she was ever going to claw her position back from Payson's grasp.

And maybe she was finally okay with letting Payson just have it all. Payson was the best gymnast in the world, after all, and she _deserved_to be the one in the spotlight – Kaylie had just managed to delude the press for years into thinking that she had something special that Payson didn't. It was about time that Payson got the sort of attention that he talent warranted, and that had absolutely nothing to do with Sasha Belov.

"Great vault, Kaylie," Payson encouraged, giving her a hug.

"Thanks, Pay," she replied, returning the hug and taking a seat next to her friend on the bench. "I can't even begin to imagine how much this must suck," she said gently. "Being stuck watching like this."

"It's okay," Payson said, her smile reassuring. "I don't mind the 'not competing' part as much as I mind the 'missing five days of training' part.

"You know I'm almost grateful for all this drama with Beals," she added with an ironic lilt in her voice. "At least I'm getting _something_out of this, at least on the endorsement side of things."

"You mean Beals inadvertently _helped_your image?" Kaylie asked half-sarcastically, not expecting Payson to nod in reply. "Seriously?"

"I don't really get either," Payson said with a helpless shrug. "I'm just going with what MJ said. Apparently the companies are loving the 'darker angle'."

"Which ones?" Kaylie asked, only a small part of her question motivated by jealousy rather than excitement and curiosity on behalf of her friend. The flush suddenly appearing on Payson's cheeks told her exactly _which_companies were liking Payson Keeler's dark side.

"So I had an idea," Payson said instead, changing the subject to avoid saying it aloud. "For the Olympic Spirit thing – maybe we could expand it. Me, you, Sasha and Austin. Could be fun that way?"

"Payson, I – "

"I don't know what's up with you guys right now," Payson said, holding up a hand to cut her off, "but I feel like I'm partly to blame, so I want to help."

Kaylie gaped, her friend's complete unselfishness amazing her once again. She'd have to talk to Payson later – let her know exactly what had happened and that she had nothing to do with it – but right now there were more important things to attend to, and she forced Payson's attention towards the podium, where Kelly Parker was being given the green light to perform her vault.

With a flashy smile at the judges, Kelly took to the runway at a controlled speed, gauging her distance from the vault and launching into the round-off flic-flac entry phase of the vault at exactly the right time. Her hands hit the ground, propelling her body through the half-twist before her feet hit the springboard and she threw herself backwards onto the vault box. The momentum kept her moving, straight into a backwards layout with two and a half twists.

The vault was perfect right up until the landing, where Kelly's left foot suddenly went from under her and she crumbled to the ground with a cry of pain.

* * *

"That does not look good," Daniel Owen-Murphy noted from the commentary box as they watched the gymnast fall and then immediately be surrounded by people. The crowd present might not have known much about gymnastics, but they knew when something had gone wrong, and let out a collective groan.

"The Anamar vault, which is a Yurchenko vault with two and a half twists," Darby said for the benefit of the audience, "is a tough vault to land consistently. It's _super hard_and beyond the ability of most gymnasts, even at an Elite International level."

"Kelly Parker is only the fourth gymnast in Unites States gymnastics to land this vault in competition," Daniel noted. "It looks like she's holding her ankle, which isn't a good sign."

Darby grimaced and nodded her agreement. "Kelly has had a recurring ankle injury for years," she said solemnly. "Oh I would just hate for something bad to happen to her. Especially this close to the Games."

* * *

"Everyone step back," Marty said, his voice cool and authoritative. The other gymnasts immediately stepped back, forming a wide perimeter around Kelly, himself and the trainer.

Kelly grimaced as the trainer touched gingerly at the afflicted area. "It hurts," she bemoaned, looking desperately towards him, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"It's alright, Kelly," he said, doing his best to console her. He wasn't used to seeing _the_Kelly Parker as anything other than chillingly unflappable, but he supposed that the possibility injury this close to the Olympics would shake even her. "How bad do you think?" he asked her gently.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I think it's just a twinge, but . . . I don't want to risk it, Coach," she told him, looking incredibly regretful.

"I underst – "

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Ellen Beals said, cutting him off with sharp interjection. "It wasn't even that bad of a landing. She just needs to rest for a little while, which she can do while the other girls perform their routines."

Marty turned his head to glare at her, narrowing his eyes at the woman. "Ms Beals, I think we should be taking this a bit more seriously," he said coolly. "If Kelly says she's hurt – "

"Are you really going to fall for that?" Beals said accusingly, cutting him off again before he could finish. "It's clear what's going on here – she barely stumbled. I thought you were smarter than that – "

"Excuse me," a new voice cut in, as a short, stout woman pushed past the perimeter of athletes, and camera crews that had swarmed around the possible incident. "Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

Beals turned in the direction of the newcomer, plastering a tight, placating smile on her face. "Ms Baboyan –"

"Are you calling my daughter a liar?" the gym-mother-from-hell repeated, her expression narrowed.

"Ms Baboyan, I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort," Beals tried again. "I was only saying that from where I was standing, it didn't look like that bad a fall. Surely, you want Kelly to compete if she's capable?"

"So you're calling my daughter a liar," Shiela Baboyan, the brash and overly involved mother of Kelly Parker, deduced. She bent down near her daughter, pinching the nineteen year olds chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Does this look like the face of a liar?"

Kelly Parker flashed her sweetest, most angelic smile, her eyes devious and daring Beals to try and say otherwise. "Ms Baboyan – "

"If you don't mind, Ms Beals," Marty cut in stonily, "as Head Coach of this team, the decision is ultimately mine. And I think we should err on the side of caution," he said, turning to Kelly's mother, who nodded approvingly. "Even if it's only a slight injury, I'd rather not aggravate it by putting further strain upon it.

"It's your decision, Kelly," he added, looking towards the fallen gymnast.

"Thanks, Coach," Kelly said, smiling weakly and giving a small nod that let him know what she wanted.

"Thank you, Coach Walsh," Shiela consolidated, her voice rising for the cameras nearby. "I'm glad_somebody_on this team has my daughter's interest at heart." She finally stepped away, letting the media swarm around her and willing to give her version of the altercation with the NGO co-ordinator. If anyone could get the likes of Beals exiled from the National Committee, it was Shiela Baboyan

As Kelly's mother moved away, Beals reared upon Payson, eyes narrowed and features set in a scowl. "Don't think for a second that I'm somehow fooled by this," she said darkly. "I know you had something to do with this."

"Fooled by what?" Payson asked innocently, cocking her head to the side in confusion. "That was a pretty bad fall from where I was sitting. I sure hope Kelly's okay."

Beals sneered in response, her expression one of pure and unadulterated disdain. "You're first on bars," she said simply, before turning on her heel. She considered it her own form of vengeance.

"Ms Beals," Payson called, forcing the woman to stop mid-step. "I hope you don't mind, but there's just one quick thing I need to do first to prepare myself."

* * *

"Oh no! It looks like Kelly's out for the rest of the competition," Darby Conrad's bright and always bubbly voice announced to the crowd. Despite the gravity of her announcement, Howard and Sasha couldn't help but snigger every time she spoke, both of them remembering the way that a sixteen-year-old Conrad used to follow a twenty-one-year-old Marty around Athens like a lost duckling.

"Looks like Payson wants you," Howard said, nudging Sasha's shoulder as he spotted Payson waving to him from down by the barriers.

Sasha frowned, but moved out of his seat and past the security guards that kept the audience away from the floor. He was waved through, of course, the security staff knowing exactly who he was and seeing that his presence had been beckoned by one of the athletes competing.

"Is everything okay?" he asked once he was close enough, concern marring his features despite the bright smile that Payson greeted him with.

"Everything is going according to plan," she told him, smiling mysteriously.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, a little awed by this slightly devious side of her emerging. "Phase two?"

She just continued to smile mysteriously, catching his hand and urging him closer. "I know you're still worried," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But you can just forget about whatever noble plans you had of fixing this," she said more sternly.

"I love you, Sasha Belov," she said sincerely, her eyes glistening with emotion. His heart jumped a little at the words, and he found himself smiling despite it all.

"Now if you don't mind," she continued, a cheeky smile blooming on her lips and her eyes mischievous. "First I'm going to kiss you," she warned with a mock serious expression.

And then she did just as she promised. She pressed her lips to his before he could protest – not that he ever would – and he let her win this time in the small battle for dominance without even putting up a fight. He pulled her as close as the barrier between them would allow, wrapping his arms around her shoulder, though they longed to find their way to her slim waist. Her fingers weaved into his hair, blunt nails raking against his scalp and making him wish they she didn't have a competition to attend to so that he could kiss her more thoroughly.

"And now," she said breathlessly, as they pulled away, "I'm going to have the greatest bars set of my life.

"And that," she said, taking a step away and smiling challengingly. Her expression was almost coy as she glanced at him through beautiful long lashes and continued. "That you can take the blame for."

~ End of Arc Three ~

Yes! Through another arc. I know it definitely wasn't the Payson/Beals confrontation people were hoping for, but I think with a woman like Ellen Beals it's best to fight fire with fire, or rather, to be as dirty and underhanded and manipulative as she is.  
Of course, everything's not completely resolved, but we'll leave all that for Arc Four to deal with.  
In related business, this chapter has a deleted scene with associated with it that I will put up before the end of the week.

* * *

**Notes:**

z* Every time I read the line about Kelly's bars I want to make a "moves like Jager" pun. And I know it's awful and I know it's a dad joke, but I just can't seem to help myself there.

Competition format: I know, I totally messed things around simply to fit my plot. I was originally going to have a team competition span over two days, but realized that was kind of ridiculous. This was the one that made the most sense for what I wanted to happen.  
So originally I went with 6-5-5 format (which I think is pre-2004 format), because I thought that they wouldn't need an alternate under the 6-5-4. But then I remembered that Lauren and Emily are event specialists, so while they both do really well in their specialties, they both have at least one event which they're really quite crap at. Emily can't vault - she has some hangup about blind landings - and Lauren isn't great at bars. Basically, I was doing the Nationals write up and realized that the standings were in complete contradiction to this chapter because Tessa was outscoring Emily and Lauren in these two events. Thus we're back tot he way it should be with a 6-5-4 and no major plot holes.

* * *

**Translates:**


	49. Swept Under the Carpet

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Swept Under the Carpet

_Internal Report No. 47 (22/5/12)_  
_National Gymnastics Organization_

_After careful consideration of all the circumstances, the investigative committee makes the following recommendation:_

_We the committee recommend Women's National Team Co-Ordinator Ellen Beals, be asked to step down from her position and tender her resignation immediately. If Ms Beals does not wish to do so voluntarily, we the committee recommend that legal action be taken to terminate Ms Beals employment with the National Gymnastics Organization. _

_The committee make this recommendation based upon the following incidences:_

_January 18 2010: Ms Beals encouraged an unhealthy body image and diet in a gymnast, leading to a serious eating disorder._

_March 20 2010: Ms Beals met privately with several gymnasts (minors) without their parents or coaches present. The details of this meeting could not be uncovered._

_April 7 2010: Ms Beals concealed information regarding the extent of a gymnast's recovery and required her to perform skills at a great risk to herself and the progress of her recovery._

_May 12 2010: Ms Beals knowingly allowed breaches to an NGO scholarship for an extended period of time. Ms Beals only brought these breaches to the NGO's attention after they failed as a means of extortion._

_June 1 2010: Ms Beals set up a proxy company to serve as a private endowment group, working in cahoots with an unnamed man to negatively impact the performance of a gymnast._

_June 21 2010: Ms Beals promised a gymnast a spot on the World Team in exchange for information on her competitors._

_August 11 2010: Ms Beals presented false information on Coach Marty Walsh to the National Gymnastics Organization in an attempt to have him removed from his position._

_September 28 2010: Ms Beals deliberately lost drug test results of a gymnast, and was present at testing when she had no authority to do so._

_October 8 2010: Ms Beals falsified documents intended for FIG officials._

_January 19 2011: Ms Beals accused another committee member of harassment. Further investigation has shown these claims to be false._

_March 17 2011: Ms Beals commenced disciplinary procedures against a gymnast (a minor). We have been unable to uncover any grounds for this action._

_June 19 2011: Ms Beals inaccurately recorded the results of several qualifying gymnastics competitions, thus presenting incorrect standings going into Nationals._

_August 12 2011: Ms Beals represented views to the community, which were in conflict with those expressed by the organization._

_September 14 2011: Ms Beals delayed paperwork originating from the Rocky Mountain Gymnastics Training Centre, costing the National Gymnastics Organization $2500 in late fees and penalties._

_December 20 2011: Ms Beals filed expenses that were not condoned by the National Gymnastics Organization._

_March/April 2012: Ms Beals, on several occasions, treated gymnasts with disrespect and overstepped her authority as Women's National Team Co-Ordinator._

_April 22 2012: Ms Beals misled the National Committee regarding the performance of the Women's National Team at the Pacific Rim Gymnastics Championship in St Petersburg, Russia. Further investigation into this event has shown that the results were causatively related to a decision made by Ms Beals herself, and not related to the behaviour of the gymnast named by Ms Beals._

_May 14 2012: Ms Beals broke a media ban she herself insisted upon by contacting TMZ media and revealing private details of a gymnast's personal life. The persons involved are yet to lay a complaint._

_May 15 2012: Ms Beals showed serious disregard for a gymnast's wellbeing by forcing her to compete in spite of a possible injury. Several complaints have been made in respect of this incident._

_Signed,_

Marcus McGowan  
Committee Chairman

* * *

_Keeler Residence_  
_May 25 2012_

There was a rough opening of the front door before it was slammed loudly just a moment later. This was followed closely by some heavy stomping, somehow managed in what one could only presume were a pair of stiletto heels given the strange click-clack of each stomp. Eventually, this turned into pacing, which came to an abrupt halt with the sound of a body being flung onto the couch and a loud disgruntled sigh.

Kim shared an amused look across the kitchen counter and shook her head.

"Is everything alright, sweetheart?" she called out to her eldest daughter, giving Payson a bit more time to calm herself down before she went in.

"Peachy," she called back sharply, her mood only souring with each passing moment.

Kim nodded, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she left the vegetables she was cooking to themselves for a moment so she could check on Payson. In the lounge, her daughter lay half-sprawled on the couch, simply glaring at inanimate objects around the room. She didn't even raise her head to acknowledge Kim's entrance.

"How was your meeting with the NGO?" Kim asked softly, cringing as Payson's expression darkened in reply.

"Sanctimonious bastards," Payson muttered lowly, not apologising at all for the profanity. "They just put it all on Ellen Beals. As though they all had nothing to do with the crap they've put us all through over the last three years.

"And then they had the _gall_," she continued, sitting up straighter, her pencil skirt riding higher on her thighs, "to offer us compensation.

"And by compensation I mean hush money," she said darkly. "And he tried to bribe me with a guaranteed spot on the Olympic team."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression positively stony as she tried to rein back her anger. After dealing with Ellen Beals' near constant attempts at sabotage – some of them only just coming to light thanks to the NGO's investigations – the NGO had tried to sully her most important goal in the worst possible way. "The only thing I want from them," she continued, a chilling edge to her voice, "is to be treated the same as anyone else. If I'm going to London, then I'm going on my merit, not on their guilt."

Kim nodded, gently touching a hand to her daughter's shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed gently, knowing that there was nothing more she could say. She gave her daughter a warm smile, trying instead to lighten her mood despite the rather awful precursor. "Speaking of your birthday . . ."

"We weren't talking about my birthday."

". . . something arrived for you while you were out," Kim continued her expression bright.

"Mom, I – "

"Kim, I think something's boiling over in the kitchen," a new voice interrupted. "I was going to . . . but I . . ."

Kim smiled with motherly affection, shaking her head at the young man and his complete inadequacy when it came to cooking. She slipped past him back towards the kitchen, leaving the young people alone.

"You're early," Payson noted with approval, launching herself out of the couch with a bright smile. Her bad mood was almost completely forgotten as she wrapped herself in Sasha's arms and buried her head into his chest. "I wasn't expecting you until later."

"I made good time," he shrugged. He brushed his calloused fingers against her cheek, gently coaxing her to lift her chin so that he could greet her properly, pressing his lips to hers for as long a moment as he could decently manage.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, remembering her rather loud entrance earlier.

She smiled again, shifting her arms up his torso so they draped loosely around his neck. "Everything's perfect," she answered, without pretence. She wasn't trying to appease him or pretend like things were okay when they weren't. She was just happy and the rest of her troubles forgotten.

"Just the NGO being . . . the NGO," she waved off vaguely when he didn't look entirely convinced. "Doesn't matter," she promised. "You're here. What more could I want?"

"Are you sure?" he checked carefully, his concern for her not easily abated.

"I'm sure," she said, kissing him sweetly to assure him. She stayed close, glancing up at him through her lashes, tilting her head slightly and biting her lip. "I can be mad at the NGO any time, but right now I'd much rather be happy with you."

He clearly agreed with her sentiment, as it had him kissing her again. It began with just a light touch of lips, but soon enough he was kissing her more firmly and dragging her body into his own. He raised a hand to her hair, undoing the very grown up hairstyle she'd pinned it in for her meeting and sending the golden waves over her shoulder. And for a moment he completely forgot where he was and could think of nothing but her in his arms, kissing him back with equal fervour, his hand sliding down the curve of her back, her nails biting into his skin and –

"Sasha, I don't know how you did it," Kim said with an exasperated sigh as she walked back into the lounge room, and alerting them to her presence. She made no comment, pretending that she didn't see the two jump apart at the sound of her voice and like she hadn't noticed her daughter's slightly rumpled state. "I only left you in there for two minutes and the broccoli's completely burnt."

Looking sheepish, Sasha raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. "I swear I didn't touch anything," he said, cringing at the unintentional innuendo. Kim lifted an eyebrow at him, suppressing a smile, but made no further comment.

"At least Becca will be pleased," she said lightly, before changing the subject. "Pay, can I get you to help me with the salads? Do you want to see how Mark's doing with the barbecue outside?" she asked rhetorically, addressing Payson and then Sasha.

Sasha glanced quickly between Payson and her mother, trying to gauge from their responses whether being alone with Payson's father and combustible material was such a good idea. Neither Keeler woman looked worried, and Payson gave him a small nod to encourage him, so he did as he was told with a small sense of relief.

"I should change first," Payson said as casually as she could manage, running a hand through her hair to dislodge the last of her hairpins without her mother noticing. She did of course, raising an eyebrow and smiling knowingly in reply. "What?"

"Nothing," Kim grinned, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm just glad that you didn't let things with the NGO ruin the rest of your day," she explained with a smug smile.

Payson rolled her eyes, not giving her mother the satisfaction of seeing her blush. "I'm gonna go change before people start arriving," she said blandly. She tried to ignore the sound of Kim's laughter trailing after her.

* * *

The Keeler's backyard was set up beautifully, with tables and chairs spread around the garden and fairy lights wrapped around the tree trunks. There were Chinese lantern style ornaments hanging between the house and the tallest trees, ready to light up the garden as the light faded, and a couple of outdoor heaters set up to counter the bite of cool still lingering in the spring air.

Sasha surveyed the scene with a smile, thinking of how very Payson it all was. No one else he knew of with Payson's level of celebrity would be happy with such a simple, down-to-earth affair – just a backyard barbecue with her family and friends.

"Can I give you a hand?" he offered unassumingly as he spotted Payson's dad fussing with several feet of fairy lights that had been simply shoved back into their box in January. From what he knew of the family, he'd say Becca was the most likely culprit.

Mark Keeler lifted his gaze and gave him a look that Sasha struggled to find a name for. Mistrustful? Disdain? Annoyance? It was all in there mixed with just the tiniest hint of resignation. Mark Keeler didn't like him – he probably never would – but at least he seemed to have accepted the fact that he wasn't going away any time soon. It was with that sort of resignation that Mark eventually handed over a handful of the twisted wires for Sasha to deal with.

They worked in silence, each of them situated with their own twisted pile of fairy lights to untangle. It was tense and uncomfortable, but Sasha thought it was better than trying to engage Payson's dad in small talk and risk offending. He was, thus, a little taken aback when Mark was the one to break the silence a few minutes later.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

Sasha shrugged, masking his surprise. "It was a long time ago," he replied casually, not sure where things were going with this.

Mark shook his head, briefly looking up from his work to give a look that was almost appraising. "Thank you," he said simply.

"I . . . I did what I had to do," Sasha answered, unable to hide his surprise this time. Of all the things he expected from Mark Keeler, it certainly wasn't gratitude. Not when it would be just as easy to blame him for the trouble with Beals and have more reason to hate him. Sasha wouldn't have judged him for choosing that approach.

"I would have ended things," he added, wanting Mark to know exactly what lengths he was willing to go through for Payson - that he was willing to give up everything just to protect her. "If that was the only way fix things, I would have ended it."

Mark eyed him for a moment, scrutinizing him with a measured gaze, before chuckling lowly to himself and flicking his eyes back down to the twisted decorations. "It seems you don't know my daughter too well if you think she'd have a bar of it," he said, a fond smile on his lips.

"Wouldn't even let me consider it," Sasha agreed, his breath leaving him in a relieved sigh. He found the same fond smile pulling at his own lips as he thought of the girl they both loved completely and unrestrainedly.

"Where did you want these?" he asked, the whole thing untangling on its own once he'd forced his way through the biggest knot. Mark directed him to the one lightless tree closest to the house.

There was no more conversation, but Sasha couldn't help but feel as though they'd come to some sort of truce. Mark Keeler might never like him, but at least he hadn't tried to warn him away from Payson this time. That, in Sasha's mind, was progress.

~ to be continued ~

So on we go, jumping two weeks past Florida to Payson's birthday! Any guesses on Sasha's present?

* * *

**Notes:**

A question. So this has been in my head for a while and I'd just like to know everybody else's thoughts on the following: **Does every Rock girl have to medal at the Olympic Games?**

Just on the Olympics, I know they've changed to the 5-4-3 format, but my writing from the beginning assumed a 6-5-4 and I don't really want to go back and change that. Plus, it seems a bit unrealistic having a team of 5 nineteen year olds. I need the sixth member to balance out the team.

* * *

**Translates:**


	50. A Birthday Reprieve

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – A Birthday Reprieve

_"Happy birthday to you,"_they all sang in that off-key way, some especially enthusiastic (and possibly tipsy) party-goers hitting an extra-high note on the last line. Payson blushed at the attention, patting down her dress – a sheath dress with a bright poppy pattern – self-consciously. But she smiled all the same as she leaned over, pulling back her hair with her hands, and blew out the nineteen candles on her birthday cake to an excited cheer from those gathered.

"Presents now," Lauren said enthusiastically, pushing to the front with her present in hand. "Open mine first," she demanded, although it hardly needed to be said.

Payson, in her usual manner, opened the gift slowly without tearing the paper and tried not to grimace when the wrapping gave way to a three-piece, baby-sized dinner set with a hand-painted image of Peter Rabbit outlined in gold leaf. "This is beautiful, Lauren," she said graciously, playing dumb to the hidden meaning of Lauren's gift.

"It was so cute I just _had _to get it," Lauren said with a wave of her hand and a shrug of her shoulders. "Happy Birthday, Pay," she added, coming in close to give her friend a warm hug.

Kaylie watched from a distance, trying to bury the jealousy that twisted in her stomach, wishing she didn't begrudge her friend simply for _being happy_. Because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Payson. Especially today.

And the fact that she was unhappy had nothing to do with Payson - she realized this now. There was no set amount of happiness to be shared around the universe. They could both be happy at the same time, and nothing would be thrown out of kilter, but Kaylie had chosen to make herself miserable and right now she wanted nothing more than to just wallow in that and feel bad for wishing everyone else felt as bad as she did.

With that thought she sunk further into her blackhole of contemplation, and then nearly jumped out of her seat at the sound somebody beside her, joining her in her misery. "Keelers sure know how to throw a good shindig," Austin noted casually, piece of birthday cake already in hand.

Kaylie nodded her assent, not sure if she wanted him to stay beside her, or leave her to her jealous musings. It had been a good party – plenty of dancing and conversation, and good food. Payson had radiated happiness all evening, with Sasha by her side ensuring her smile never faded for even an instant. Even now she was smiling as Sasha presented her with a ring box and Lauren took it completely the wrong way.

_'Typical Lauren,'_Kaylie thought with a wane smile, watching as Payson put the ring on her middle finger not looking the slightest bit disappointed that it hadn't been an engagement ring like Lauren thought. Payson loved wearing rings, and obviously her boyfriend knew that about her.

"Are you okay, Kaylie?" Austin asked. He watched her cautiously, as though he expected her to dart away like a frightened animal at the slightest sign of danger.

"I'm fine," she insisted, the words hollow. "I'm . . . I'm just tired, Austin."

He grimaced, his expression giving away his hurt. In just a couple of months he'd gone from a person she could tell anything to, to someone she out and out lied to without hesitation. "You know . . . I think . . ." he began, stopping and starting several times before he finally landed on the words he wanted to say. "We'll always be friends, Kaylie," he told her lowly, looking so unlike himself with a serious, pained expression. "And if you ever need to talk – about anything – I . . ."

"I know, Austin," she cut in, saving him from finishing the thought. "You've always been a good friend," she added, reminding herself more than him.

She stood from her position, readying herself to re-join the celebration – to escape what could potentially become a very painful conversation. "I'm really sorry, Austin," she said, turning back to look at him. He gave a brief, stoic nod, letting her know that he understood and accepted her apology. They'd been so good together, but then she went and ruined it over nothing – because she was jealous of her friend's success.

And like Austin, she understood what he didn't say. He forgave her for what she'd done and he understood why she'd done it, but that didn't mean that they could just go back to how things used to be. He wouldn't be her consolation prize. For now they were better as friends.

"I better get back to the party," she said, forcing a smile at the boy she'd been content with a few months ago. Content, but not happy.

"Me too," he said, waving her off as they went off in different directions – Kaylie heading towards the heart of the party where Payson was still opening her gifts, and Austin heading into the house to grab another drink.

"Are you okay?" Payson asked in a quiet whisper, just as Austin had moments earlier, her happy expression diluted with concern.

"I'm fine," Kaylie assured her brightly, not wanting to ruin her friend's good mood with her own emotional drama. "You haven't opened my present yet," she added good-naturedly. "I swear its nothing like Lauren's."

In too good a mood herself, Payson let it slide this one time and let herself be distracted by the present foisted impatiently into her hands. Her eyes, however, held the firm promise that she would come back to this later, even though she was letting it go for now.

Tonight, after all, was a night for celebration and there would be more than enough drama to fill their days in the months to come.

* * *

_Next Day_

"You should give your daughter more credit," Kim teased lightly, stepping beside her husband as he ostensibly washed the dishes from breakfast. The kitchen sink, as it happened, provided the perfect vantage point for spying on their daughter as she sat in the garden with her boyfriend, enjoying the one day a year she got to pretend she was a normal teenager and not an elite athlete on the road to the Olympics.

Mark turned to her, feigning ignorance while still watching the couple from the corner of his eye. He had gotten very good a pretending he wasn't watching the two, particularly after several hours practice the previous evening. Sasha had yet to do anything out of line in his sight, but that gave him little comfort and even less reason to stop watching.

"We've really lucked out as parents," Kim continued, wrapping her arms around his forearm and leaning her head against his shoulder. "We've raised a smart, intelligent daughter who is strong enough and secure enough in herself not to let anyone pressure her into something that isn't what she wants. And she's been lucky enough to find a young man who loves her and wants nothing more in this world than to see her happy."

Mark snorted derisively, still not entirely sold on the intrusive presence of Sasha Belov. There had been progress, sort of, in a small way after everything with Ellen Beals and Payson's performance in Orlando. They'd watched the meet and the media drama surrounding it from in Boulder, and she was sure it had made an impact upon Mark, at least at the time.

Kim had been more amused than anything watching the meet. Payson was usually so private and reserved, but she hadn't seemed to think twice about pulling Sasha towards her and kissing him in front of a packed arena and the eagerly waiting media. In fact, it wasn't the first time that Payson had been caught in a _passionate embrace _with her boyfriend in public and it seemed that Sasha brought out a side of Payson that was a little more daring and assertive than people were used to.

Mark's reaction had been a low snort of disapproval, similar to the noise he made now, although his lack of further comment had been telling. Payson had gone on to perform one of the most beautiful uneven bars routines she'd ever seen, scoring a near perfect ten in execution.

As she'd turned to Mark at the end of the routine, he had nodded to himself and uttered a quiet, "I know." She thought that look and the quite sigh of resignation had meant Mark was finally seeing what he'd tried so hard to deny – the fact that Sasha was good for Payson in so many ways and that this was a man willing to put himself on the line to protect her.

But having Sasha here in person was an entirely different matter. Seeing his daughter smiling and standing close to a man that was in no way the kind of man Mark would have chosen for her had a sense of reality to it that made it difficult to swallow.

Kim sighed, leaning closer to her husband as she continued. "I know it's not ideal," she told him, "and there's a lot of things I'd change if I could. The timing, the age gap, Sasha's past and his reputation.

"But without those things, Payson wouldn't be as happy as she is now," she said, her tone warm and hopeful.

"She's so happy," she said, saying the words again so that Mark would understand that it was more than just some placating comment. It was a fact. "I don't think I've ever seen her this happy outside of gymnastics since she was a little girl. And while I would have loved for her to have found that sort of happiness on her own, I'm glad that she found it in Sasha."

Mark stopped to consider her words, and she was glad that he hadn't just brushed them off without thinking. A myriad of emotions flashed within his eyes, some good and some bad, before he finally put his thoughts into words.

"I – I'm happy for her," Mark admitted reluctantly, his voice rough. "I just didn't think it would be so soon," he said. He looked sad and nostalgic, thinking back to a time when his little girl was _just_his little girl and not a champion or celebrity or somebody's girlfriend.

"I thought we still had a few more years before this became a thing," he said more lightly, his lips quirking a little at the corners. "At least until after the Olympics. She's only nineteen."

Kim smiled at him indulgently, releasing her grip on his arm so she could slip her arms around his torso. "As I recall, I wasn't much older than Payson when we met," she said, ribbing him gently. "And that didn't turn out so bad, did it?"

"No," Mark agreed, his expression warm. He sighed, reluctantly turning his back to the pair outside so he could give his wife his full attention. "I suppose this means I have to start being nicer to him," he assumed with a small grimace.

"I think Payson would like that," Kim nodded, giving him an encouraging smile.

"I'm not taking him fishing," Mark put in quickly, his tone almost petulant. "He has to earn that."

Kim laughed brightly, letting him have his own solace. She knew her husband well, and eventually he'd have to come all the way around to Sasha Belov, and not merely attempt to tolerate him.

"You're not losing her," she promised him, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"Yet," Mark corrected. He glanced back over his shoulder just watching Payson for the moment, her expression soft and serene and so very happy.

He turned away, not sure that he could stand much more of it.

"I'm not losing her yet."

* * *

Payson couldn't think of anything that could make this day better. The sun was out, the birds were singing, and she currently strolling around Boulder with her hand perfectly fitted with Sasha's. It was heaven.

"You know, I've lived in Boulder for five years and this is the first time I've ever done this," she said, a bright smile on her face as she swung their hands between.

Sasha smiled back at her, titling his head as he asked for elaboration. "You've never gone for a walk here?"

She shook her head, maybe a little surprised herself. "I've never, just walked around aimlessly like this. I usually have somewhere I'm trying to get to," she shrugged. "And I'm usually running, or at least jogging.

"It's nice," she added, stepping closer so she could lean her head against him. Sasha dropped her hand and wrapped it around her waist instead and dropping a kiss to her forehead. Perhaps a slight improvement on handholding, but not enough to take back her previous assessment of the day's possibilities.

"I didn't even know this place was here," she continued, waving to a gorgeous French Bakery practically en route to The Rock. Not that she'd ever had a reason to notice it – French Bakeries were in no way conducive to keeping your body honed for impressive acrobatic skills.

"Mommy, look!" came a cry from a little girl exiting the bakery in question. She dashed towards them before her mother could stop her, brown pig-tails trailing behind the pre-schooler as she fled her parent.

When she finally came to a dead halt right in front of them, she smiled broadly and looked up at them in complete awe. "You're Payson Keeler," she said with a slight lisp, pointing a finger up towards Payson.

"I am," Payson agreed, sending an understanding smile towards the little girl's mother who silently apologized for the intrusion. She really didn't mind these sorts of celebrity spottings, even when she was out on a date with her boyfriend. It wasn't all that long ago that she was this little girl, so in love with the sport and anyone that had anything to do with this. She would have done the exact same thing, and had, in fact, nearly stepped out into moving traffic when she was eight because she thought she saw Shannon Miller buying a newspaper.

The little girl's smile widened about ten-fold as Payson offered her hand, making the five-year-olds day. "And what's your name?" she asked her warmly.

"I'm Katie," she said brightly, shaking the hand she was offered enthusiastically. Then she turned her head, narrowing her eyes slightly at the man beside her idol. "Are you her husband?" she asked with such childlike innocence that the two of them struggled not to just coo sweetly at her intrusiveness.

"You don't know who he is?" Payson asked, avoiding the question (and thus having to explain that sometimes girls and boys hold hands and that doesn't always mean that they're married). She put on an expression of exaggerated shock and affront as the little girl shock her head, frowning in confusion.

"This is Sasha Belov," she answered to the girl's questioning looks as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She read off his credentials in one breath, letting the girl know exactly how impressive the man beside her was: a two time Olympian, the winner of eight Olympic gold medals, current World, Olympic, British, and European gymnastics champion, and just plain gorgeous to boot.

"Boys do gymnastics too?" Katie asked in wonder when Payson was done, the one thing she had taken from the small speech.

Sasha just chuckled as Payson's shocked expression turned genuine. "They do," he responded, crouching down so he was closer to Katie's diminutive height, "but not nearly as well. They fall down a lot," he said with a grimace, lowering his voice like he was imparting a secret and making the little girl giggle.

"Then how do you win?" she asked him curiously, frowning a little as she thought about it more intently.

Sasha laughed again and proudly stated the secret of his success. "I fall down less."

At that point, Katie's mother stepped in, thanking them for their time and urging her daughter away before she asked any more 'inappropriate' questions.

"C'mon," Sasha said, sliding his hand back into hers and giving it a gentle tug. "We're almost there."

Payson laughed and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You're so cute," she teased, pursing her lips. Sasha shook his head and kept leading her onwards, knowing that to pout and tell her that he wasn't cute would only egg her on.

Once at The Rock, they headed straight from the airstream. Despite near constant threats to have the thing crushed and turned into scrap metal, Marty had yet to take out his vengeance on the recreational vehicle and it remained in its little corner of the parking lot.

"My surprise is the airstream?" Payson frowned, giving her boyfriend a dubious look.

"Your surprise is _in_the airstream," he corrected, opening the door and waving her in.

She shook her head, slipping her arms around his neck and making him shudder as her fingers curled into his hair. The look she gave him could only be described as coquettish and she smiled knowingly. "You know if you wanted to get me alone, you only had to say," she told him playfully, pressing closer and brushing a teasingly light kiss to his lips.

"I admit the thought had crossed my mind," he replied airily, his hands finding her hips. He steadied her as she shifted onto her toes, nuzzling against his cheek and pressing faint kisses along his jaw. It was thoroughly distracting and almost made him forget that he had genuine,_innocent_motives for bringing her here today. Which could all wait, he decided in a split second decision, until he was done kissing Payson the way he'd been dying to kiss her all day.

He lifted her chin with just a touch of his finger, kissing her gently at first and then more firmly as they continued, her mouth opening invitingly to his. His hand weaved into her hair – god, he loved her hair – and the hand on her hip brushed lightly up her side, making her shiver under his touch. He wondered how he'd ever managed to keep from kissing her for so long.

She hummed softly as she pulled away from him, the sound of her enjoyment only making him want to kiss her more. But he let her pull all the way back before urging her inside and closing the door behind them.

"There really is a surprise," Payson laughed, gravitating towards the plain box sitting on the table. It hadn't been there the last time she'd been in the airstream.

"Of course," Sasha replied, feigning affront.

She looked repentant and kissed him on the cheek as a means of apologizing. As she moved away, he caged his arms around her, holding her against the table and looking dangerously wolfish. "That's not to say my motives were completely pure," he pointed out in a low one.

But Payson shook her head, showing a remarkable amount of restraint. "I want to see what's in the box," she said firmly.

He sighed, sagging forward a little and shaking his head amusedly. "Only you, _dragă,"_he accused affectionately, cupping her cheek and giving her just a quick peck on the lips – nothing anywhere near the kiss he intended to give her. The smile he received in return more than made up for it.

"So what's in here?" she asked as he stepped back and allowed her room to turn around. She pulled back the tabs and peered in, surprised at what she found. "Photo albums?"

He nodded and took out the first album, laying it on the table. He let her have the honours of opening it and just watched her expression as she flipped through the pages with the utmost care.

"She's beautiful," she uttered quietly, lifting her eyes to his. Her fingers hovered just above the picture, tracing the features of the young woman before her. "You have her smile," she told him.

He nodded and moved closer, needing to be near her, needing physical touch to ease the sudden thrumming of his heart.

"Thank you," she said quietly, lowering her eyes back to the page and flipping to the next picture.

As he watched her, he felt his heart clench with the degree of emotion he felt for her: a literal ache in his heart. She was just so beautiful and sweet, and patient, and brave and determined . . . he wasn't sure what he'd ever done in his life to deserve someone quite so wonderful.

"I love you," he said aloud, surprising himself with their suddenness. And yet nothing he'd said before had ever felt so right.

Payson turned towards him, a little startled by his unexpected confession. Then she smiled and kissed his cheek, and he felt his whole body warm pleasantly at her words, finally made in reply to his own.

"I love you too."

~ to be continued ~

I can't believe I'm up to chapter 50. Actually, I can't believe that I'm up to chapter 50 and still not done.

This chapter is a bit transition, but I like to think of it as more on the closure side of things. Like with Austin and Kaylie, and with finally getting Sasha to say 'I love you', which is totally Payson's birthday present and therefore JCI wins bragging rights for getting that one right.

* * *

**Notes:**

The ring Sasha got Payson, which is distinctly not an engagement ring is by Lucie Campbell London. It's the same starburst design as the earrings Sasha got her for Valentine's Day. You can check it out on the LJ version, or simply on the gallery linked in my ridiculously long profile, which I try to annotate thoroughly for everyone's convenience.

There are also pictures for each girls dress, especially Payson's. And there will be a bonus chapter sometime this week because I went through a few different present ideas before I settled on this one.

I also wanted to note that I've made some changes to Chapter 48: Down For the Count. It's more technical gymnastics stuff, rather than plot stuff. I just had the commentators babbling away in places, particularly about Tessa Grande having five people better than her on the team in every event. Which I realize now can't be true because, while Kaylie, Kelly, and Andrea are All-Around gymnasts, Emily and Lauren and event specialists, which means they suck at at least one event (vault for Emily and bars for Lauren). Therefore, Tessa must be better than them on at least these two events, even if her scores aren't enough to beat the others. So, yeah, changing back to the 6-5-4 formula like it should have been instead of the 6-5-5 of old. Just making sure there isn't a huge conflict later when Emily bombs on vault and Lauren's bars in unmemorable.

* * *

**Translates:**


	51. Countdown to Nationals

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number – Countdown to Nationals

_The Rock_  
_May 28 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 9_

There was a sort of . . . squelching noise. Rubber against nylon. And then a rustle. A softer one followed a thump against the mats. Then a clap. And then even more rustling.

Lauren Tanner had quite frankly had enough.

In just a weeks time they would be flying to St. Louis, which meant seven days of lockdown and camping out in the gym. But that did not mean she had to forego her beauty sleep.

"Keeler, what the hell are you doing in there?" she complained loudly, probably waking up anyone that hadn't been disturbed by Payson's rustling and fidgeting.

"Nothing," Payson replied quickly, staying dead still for a few moments. But the rustling soon returned.

Lauren groaned and reached for her flashlight, flicking it on and catching her friend mid-movement – arms stretched above her head and one knee bent arching her body slightly from the mats below her. "What on earth are you doing, Keeler?" she asked, frowning suspiciously.

Payson looked sheepish, relaxing back into a normal sleeping position. "I was just going through my floor routine," she said, which at least explained the clap from earlier. "I'm showing it to Viola tomorrow morning, so I just wanted to . . . uh . . . yeah."

She was pretty sure she heard Becca whispering about her sister being certifiably insane, and Lauren, at times like this when people had no right to be doing anything but sleeping, was apt to agree. "You know some people were trying to sleep, Keeler," she said pointedly. "I don't need you keeping me up angsting about impressing your future god-mother-in-law."

"Some of us _were_ asleep," Emily's voice cut in before Payson could reply. "Can you please_both_be quiet?" she groaned.

"I was fine until _somebody_turned on the flashlight," Kaylie added. "Do you mind, Lo?"

"How can either of you sleep through all that?" Lauren retorted, shuffling around in her sleeping bag to demonstrate the racket that Payson had been making earlier. "It's irritating."

"Not as irritating as your voice," one of the juniors subjected to the same treatment muttered darkly. Lauren would make it her sole purpose tomorrow to find out which one.

"Can we all please just all stop talking and try to get some sleep?" Emily complained.

"Fine," Lauren agreed, flicking off her torch and descending them all into silence.

"Kaylie?" Payson asked, earning several groans. "What did you and Austin talk about at my party?"

"Nothing," Kaylie whispered, desperately trying to put an end to the conversation.

Silence regined, and then –

"Do you want to talk about it?"

* * *

_The Rock_  
_May 29 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 8_

Despite a rather trying start to her relationship with Viola Pettinger, Payson now looked forward to seeing the former prima ballerina. This was, in no small part, because Viola enjoyed nothing more than humiliating her godson and thus sharing tidbits from Sasha's childhood that he would have much preferred she keep to herself.

After taking the time for a proper catch up and doing her stretches, Payson took her position in the centre of the floor. Viola tapped out the beat on her cane, and Payson began to move through her floor choreography, going through the movements to the syncopated beat tapped out by her instructor. Viola called out additional instructions as she went – to arch her back or point her toes – stopping the routine entirely just a few beats after her first tumbling pass.

Payson knew what she was about to say before she said it. "I don't like it," Viola said crisply. "It ruins the entire passage.

"It's too fast for the music," she continued before Payson could try to protest. "Four beats," she said, tapping it out with her cane. "You're trying to get it over with as fast you can."

Payson knew better than to tell Viola that that was how they did turns in gymnastics. It wasn't nearly as pretty as the two _fouettes en tournant_ that Viola wanted to put in place of the gymnastics turn, but it was how it was done – as quickly as possible before she lost her momentum. She couldn't keep going at a controlled speed without the whipping leg movements used in the _fouette en tournant_.

"Come," Viola said, directing for her to meet her part way. Viola stepped upon the springy surface, placing her cane down on the edge. Taking up fourth position, she brought her hands together in front of her and bent at the knees. Springing up, she pushed _en_ _pointe_, bringing her free leg _en passé_and completed four turns, stepping out out on the fifth beat.

"Anyone can just spin around," Viola said in a blasé, indifferent tone, shifting out of her ballet position. "To control it takes skill.

"I believed you get points for that. So tell me," she added with a superior smile, "is there any point attempting a skill like that if you can't perform it beautifully?"

Pasyon sighed in defeat, knowing that Viola had her on that. She couldn't just rely upon power moves to bolster her scores – not since her back – and needed to think of the routine as a whole and not just the sum of their parts. And while the E-skill she wanted to use would be very impressive, the deduction she risked in execution might not be worth the two tenths it added to her degree of difficulty.

"We'll work on the fourth pirouette for trials," Viola promised gently, resting a hand on Payson's shoulder. "For now I want to see how it looks with the three.

"Four beats," she reminded as she led Payson back to the centre of the floor. "And I want you to lock your eyes on that corner."

Payson nodded, practicing the easier turn before she incorporated it into her routine. The speed was much more controlled, and she snapped her head around as she turned to face the far corner.

"That was lovely, Payson," Viola assured her, smiling warmly. "Now I want to see it altogether." She picked up her cane and began to tap out the rhythm in four/four time.

* * *

_Sasha's Apartment – Canary Wharf, London_  
_May 31 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 6_

Sasha generally trusted that Howard knew what he was doing when it came to endorsements, but even he was a little dubious of Howard's supposed plan to make him more palatable to the NGO. He understood that even with Ellen Beals out of the picture, he still had to make a good impression on them for Payson's sake. What he didn't understand was why that meant cooking. In public.

"We're changing your demographic," Howard said simply. "Giving you a more family oriented appeal. Cooking makes people think of home making and families and all those lovely warm feelings people associate with their childhood.

"It's something to do with Pavlovian conditioning," he added vaguely, hoping an appeal to science might give his argument a bit more weight. "By associating with wholesome activities, like cooking, people start to think of you as a more wholesome person.

"Plus I already told my mum we were doing it and she's all excited about meeting Ainsely Harriott," he finished nonchalantly. "Do you really want to disappoint her, Sasha?"

"We?" Sasha asked, lifting an eyebrow at his friend.

"Well, you have to pair up with somebody," Howard shrugged casually. "Did you have someone else in mind or something?"

Sasha eyed him for a moment and eventually shrugged in reply. "You'll do," he said disinterestedly, smirking a little. "I can't believe you're actually volunteering for this. You're worse than I am," he accused.

"Am not," Howard disagreed, looking offended.

"You burnt water," Sasha deadpanned in response. "At least I can boil an egg."

"At least I didn't almost set fire to my girlfriend's kitchen just by looking at it," Howard returned.

"I didn't almost set fire to anything," Sasha protested, looking slightly put out by the need to defend himself against a man who could burn porridge in a microwave. "I burnt the broccoli, and that's because the stove settings were different than what I was expecting."

Howard lifted an eyebrow and smirked back at his friend. "I thought you didn't touch anything."

* * *

_The Rock_  
_June 2 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 4_

Kaylie stood by the water cooler, trying to catch her breath and keep the intensity of practice from weighing her down. She knew she was psyching herself out, letting things get to her that didn't even matter, but she just couldn't get out of her head today.

She'd tried everything. Deep breathing. Meditation. Empowerment mantras. All useless against the overwhelming feeling that she just wasn't measuring up.

Then, for better or worse, Austin Tucker swaggered up to her looking as cocky and relaxed as ever with an easy smile. "Hope you're not hogging all the water to yourself, Kaylie," he said brightly. "Rest of us need to hydrate too, you know."

She forced her brightest smile, her mouth impossibly wide and words falling out without thinking. "Hey, _friend_," she greeted enthusiastically, regretting it immediately as Austin's smile dropped from his face. "I don't know why I did that," she apologised awkwardly. "That was . . . that was really, really stupid. I just . . ."

She trailed off, took a breath, and then smiled more reasonably. "Hi, Austin. What's up?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Are you okay, Kayles?" he asked gently. "I saw you come over here. You just looked a bit off?"

Her first instinct was to brush him off like last time, but she shook her head, remembering how hurt he'd looked afterwards. "I guess the pressures just getting to me," she said, playing it down all the same. "This is the first step to making the Olympics."

"Yeah, and you'll be fine, Kaylie," Austin reassured gently, touching her shoulder. "Of course you're gonna make it."

"Thanks, Austin," she said tiredly, "but you don't have – "

"I'm not just saying it, Kayles," Austin cut in. "I'm so sure I'd even put money on it," he added brightly.

Despite herself, she found herself smiling back until she caught a glimpse of Payson on beam performing her new dismount. "It's not even going to be close this year, is it," she noted dully, watching Marty nod with approval and send Payson on to the next apparatus. The anxiety returned ten-fold, reminding her that Payson was leaving them all behind. How exactly did she expect to beat the rest of the world when she couldn't even beat her own teammate?

"Anything could happen," Austin shrugged, offering her the best assurance he could give. "You need to forget about trying to beat Payson or Kelly Parker," he advised sagely. "The only person you're competing against is yourself."

Kaylie frowned, surprised to hear such wisdom from Austin Tucker of all people. He shrugged and explained, "I read it in a fortune cookie. It seemed kind of fitting so I remembered it."

That was more like the Austin she knew and (possibly) loved. "Don't ever change, Austin," she laughed, smiling to herself as she returned to the apparatus, feeling better than she had walking off.

* * *

_The Rock_  
_June 3 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 3_

"What do you think they're talking about?" asked Kezia McDermot, one of The Rock's three elite juniors heading to Nationals this year along with Becca Keeler and Avery Prescott. Not that the Junior National team meant all that much this year, with all of them at least a year too young for the Olympics and most of them too old to be thinking about 2016.

The three of them watched the senior elite, all curious as to what was happening in the conversation they were half-seeing but not hearing.

"Do you think they're having phone sex?" asked Avery, the youngest of the three girls, in an exaggerated whisper, clearly having no idea of the mechanics involved. Kezia clambered over to cover her mouth and looked around to make sure no one had heard while Becca looked almost green at the thought.

"That's my sister," she protested. "And we don't even know that she's talking to Sasha."

"You're the one who said she was," Kezia pointed out, releasing Avery from her hold.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that's Sasha's ringtone but she might have changed it," Becca shrugged helplessly.

"Who else would she be talking to?" Kezia asked dryly. "Everyone's here," she said, waving to the gym where they were all currently in lockdown.

"It's probably him. She's all smiley and happy," Avery added, giving a loud, dreamy sigh. "It's so romantic."

"It's not really," Becca said thoughtfully. "They don't even talk about romantic things like planning dates or reading poetry and saying 'I love you'. Mostly they just talk about normal things. Like what she did that day or something about her friends.

"And sometimes they'll be talking about really stupid things," she added with a frown, unsure how her sister could turn something as hopelessly romantic as a long distance relationship into something so . . . normal. "Like microbials and weird TV shows. It's not romantic at all."

Avery looked disappointed to have her romantic fantasies dashed. Kezia too a little. "Still, it's Sasha Belov," Kezia put in, salvaging what they could of the fantasy. "I bet he could make math homework romantic," she beamed brightly.

"Yeah," Avery agreed. "But not microbials. There's nothing romantic about micro organisms."

* * *

_Keeler Residence_  
_June 4 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 2_

Packing was something that Payson had become very good at over the years. She had a standard list that could be adapted with ease depending upon the length of the competition and anticipated weather.

Her leotards, of course, were first on the list: one for practice and at least two for competition. Followed by her makeup and hair kits, fully stocked with everything she needed to look presentable on the floor. Her warm-ups were next, along with the standard toiletries, pyjamas, and underwear. Nothing particularly exciting.

Nowadays she had to be sure to bring at least one dress with her. And it had to be nice one. She couldn't just show up to these things in jeans and a nice blouse now that she was a_celebrity_. As they were still playing mind games with her sponsors, MJ had provided her with a cute, Calvin Klein knit dress with an interesting animal pattern and a patent leather belt. Payson already had the perfect shoes to match.

With the dress went her _other_makeup bag. Not the one for competitions, but with the kind of makeup girls her age ordinarily wore. The makeup they wore for competition was heavy and made to stand the harsh lights of the arena. It was not made for ordinary use and certainly not to make one feel pretty.

She brought a few sets of clothes, the sort she could feel comfortable in when she wasn't competing or making an appearance. As it was summer, this meant shorts and camisoles, and even a cute pleated skirt. And her gym gear, of course, so she wouldn't have to go without her cardio.

She always brought more shoes than she needed, just because she liked them. Tennis shoes would probably do her fine for most of the time, and obviously her running shoes went hand and hand with the rest of her gym gear. She did not, however, need to bring three pairs of heels with her. Regardless, her luggage would still only be a about a quarter of the size of Lauren and Kaylie's.

That left only a few luxury items to add to her suitcase and carry-on. Firstly, the constant travel companions – cellphone, mp3 player, and a good book (because there was something almost sacrilegious about an ebook reader). Plus her laptop, which she had become nearly inseparable from since involving herself in a long distance relationship – Skype was an absolute godsend. A couple of framed photographs of her family and friends.

And then one of Sasha and Rassilon, and she had everything she needed.

* * *

_Chaifetz Arena – St Louis University, MO_  
_June 6 2012_

_Days until Nationals: 0_

_"Welcome everyone to the USA Gymnastics Visa Championship in St Louis, Missouri. Today we start with the men's competition and it's looking to be an incredible competition."_

_"This is where the road to the Olympics begins." _

~ to be continued ~

I've got 20 minutes until it's no longer Monday. Yes, I forgot. I'll blame it on the season.

I thought I'd try something slightly different to get us to Nationals. It started off as a drabble a day, but I think I either got lazy or bored and just ran out of ideas for each day, thus I ended up spreading them out a bit.

* * *

**Notes:**

Ainsley Harriet: The host of _Ready, Steady, Cook_. Sasha and Howard are both such mamma's boys that they are mostly incapable of looking after themselves. Howard, more so than Sasha. And yes, I do see them setting fire to the BBC.

Pavlovian Conditioning: So you've got your Conditioned Stimulus (CS), your Unconditioned Stimulus (US), and your subject. The US is something that automatically produces the desired response, for example, the presence of food (US) will automatically produce drooling in an animal (although why you desire drooling is beyond me). The CS is a previously neutral stimulus, which does not produce the desired response (like a bell), but by repeatedly pairing the CS and US together (with the CS preceding the US for the best results) the CS comes to elicit the same response, even in the absence of the US. That is, the CS has come to signal the US. Yes it does work and you can probably safely perform it on people and animals without any adverse side effects, though do remember to extinguish the behaviour for the sake of your participants. Thanks to a class experiment on Pavlovian Conditioning I am now conditioned to the word Pavlov and can't hear the word without salivating a little.

Ballet: _En pointe_ is when a ballerina raises herself on the tips of her toes. _En passe_ describes the position of the working leg when the foot is at or above the knee. A _Fouette en tournant_ is a type of turn where the leg works in a whipping movement to keep the motion going.

Also note that I've made some changes to Chapter 48: Down For the Count. It's more technical gymnastics stuff, rather than plot stuff. I just had the commentators babbling away in places, particularly about Tessa Grande having five people better than her on the team in every event. Which I realize now can't be true because, while Kaylie, Kelly, and Andrea are All-Around gymnasts, Emily and Lauren and event specialists, which means they suck at at least one event (vault for Emily and bars for Lauren). Therefore, Tessa must be better than them on at least these two events, even if her scores aren't enough to beat the others. So, yeah, changing back to the 6-5-4 formula like it should have been instead of the 6-5-5 of old. Just making sure there isn't a huge conflict later when Emily bombs on vault and Lauren's bars in unmemorable.

* * *

**Translations:**


	52. Send My Love to St Louis

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Send My Love to St. Louis

_Chaifetz Arena – St Louis University, MO  
June 7 2012_

_"Hello, this is Alexandru Belov. Sorry I missed your call. If you leave a message I'll get back to you when I can . . . promise, Pay."_

Payson sighed heavily as the recording finished with an obnoxious beep, indicating that she could do as the voice recording said. "Hey, I was just returning your call," she said, not letting the annoyance she felt slip into her tone.

It wasn't Sasha's fault, after all, that she'd missed his phone call earlier because some wanna-be-game-show-host had been riffling through her gym bag. That, if she had to blame anyone, was all on MJ who thought it rude for her to answer her cellphone in the middle of an interview. After several monotonous hours of said interviews, it was only now that she had the chance to call him back.

Admittedly, MJ was probably right, but she hardly regarded 'What's In Your Gym Bag?' as an interview. And the host person hadn't been particularly polite, going through her possessions in the hopes of finding some piece of juicy gossip. He had actually flicked through her diary (well, I say diary, I really mean organizer) and displayed it to the cameras.

"Got your message earlier," she continued, letting herself sound as disappointed as she felt about missing his call. "Thank you. I'm glad I got to hear from you, even if it's not in real time.

"I miss you," she said shyly, a hue of red gracing her cheeks. _"Te iubesc, Alexandru_. _La revedere_."

She put her phone away when she was done, glancing around to make sure that nobody had seen her in the uncharacteristically sentimental display. It would be just like Kelly Parker to see it as a chink in her armour and try to use it to throw her off her game.

Not that it ever would. As disappointed as she was not to be able to talk to Sasha before the competition, he'd left her a very sweet and supportive message that kept her spirits high.

"Did you manage to get through to Sasha?" Kaylie asked gently as she returned to the packed locker room. They'd all been done getting ready a half hour ago, and now they all sat around the benches practically vibrating with nervous energy and just waiting for the organizers to call them in.

Payson shook her head. "No but it's alright," she shrugged. "I'll talk to him later." Emily and Kaylie just nodded, satisfied by her response, while Lauren seemed to take a personal offence to her lack of conversation.

"But what about the tradition?" Lauren asked with a horrified look.

"The tradition?" Payson questioned, looking confused in return. Lauren had always been very superstitious and spiritual about her gymnastics – she was, after all, the one who demanded they swear their friendship on the Great Goddess of Gymnastics – and held the others to her same beliefs.

"Your Sasha tradition," Lauren explained to her, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you don't talk to him then you'll throw off your pre-competition rituals and jinx the whole thing."

"That's not a tradition," Payson told her plainly. "That's just a coincidence. I don't think it's going to throw off anything."

"But what about _my _rituals?" Lauren asked with a putout huff. "If I don't tease you about being on the phone to Sasha, I might not medal. Do you really want to have that hanging over your head?" she warned.

Payson continued to look unaffected by Lauren's threat, and the other blonde eventually gave up her challenge and just huffed an annoyed accusation of selfishness in her friend's direction. Then they all lapsed into silence, the whole room of gymnasts too tense with coiled energy to waste anything on conversation. They all just withdrew into themselves, preparing themselves mentally for what would be the first step on the road to the Olympics.

* * *

**_Women's All-Around Standings Day 1 – 2012 Women's U.S. Visa Championship_**

**_1. Payson Keeler – 63.195  
Rocky Mountain Training Centre_**

**_2. Kaylie Cruz – 60.675  
Rocky Mountain Training Centre_**

**_3. Kelly Parker – 60.400  
Denver Elite_**

**_4. Sabrina Banks – 59.800  
WOGA_**

**_5. Elizabeth Nelson – 57.900  
WOGA_**

**_6. Andrea Conway – 57.800  
Boston Elite_**

**_7. Lauren Tanner – 57.250  
Rocky Mountain Training Centre_**

**_8T. Kelsey Hamilton – 56.950  
All Olympia_**

**_8T. Tessa Grande – 56.950  
Denver Elite_**

**_10. Emily Kmetko – 56.900  
Rocky Mountain Training Centre_**

**_11. Jessica Williams – 54.700  
Texas East_**

**_12. Hayley Greene – 54.600  
UCLA_**

* * *

_Chase Park Plaza – St Louis, MO_

The first round of competition itself was just two hours from start to finish, if that, and over by about 4:30pm that afternoon. The press conference afterwards went on for an hour and a half after that, so by the time they finally got back to their rooms it was nearly half-past six and they were more mentally fatigued than physically exhausted.

"I'm so tired," Lauren complained falling upon one of the beds in an ungainly heap. Payson fell upon the other, echoing the sentiment with a tired groan – she didn't even have the strength to say the words.

"You can't sleep," protested Becca, the third guest in the triple suite the three girls were sharing. She went to Lauren, the closer of the two, and tried to drag her into a sitting position. She half-succeed, only to have Lauren flop back down the second Becca's grip failed.

"Payson, tell your sister to leave me alone and let me sleep," Lauren groaned, rolling over so she could bury her face in the covers.

Payson groaned from her own prone position, one arm draped across her face while the other waved in their direction. "Becca, as your older sister and team captain, I command you to just let us die in peace," she said tiredly, feeling more exhausted than she ever had in her life. She must have gone through at least four hours of interviews that day, and it still wasn't over. They still had some NGO mandated party where they had to schmooze people and smile pretty at the camera, and it was honestly the last thing that Payson felt like doing at the moment. Right now all she wanted to do was sleep.

"Don't you guys have to get ready for the party?" Becca asked, ignoring Payson's unequivocal instructions.

Lauren sat up suddenly, glaring at Becca incredulously. "Are you trying to get rid of us, Keeler?"

"Only a little," Becca admitted, smiling meekly. "Avery and Kezia are gonna come over so we can watch movies while you guys have your party."

Lauren eyed her carefully for a minute longer before finally relenting. "You owe me, Keeler," she said stonily as she grabbed everything she needed and headed into the bathroom.

"Pay?" Becca asked in a gentle voice, sitting on the edge of her sister's bed.

"Don't mind me," Payson said, waving around her free hand in meaningless gestures. "I'll just stay here while you watch movies. Probably won't even be able to move for at least two hours."

"You know you have to go, Pay," Becca insisted. "It's practically being thrown in your honour."

Payson groaned loudly and threw both her arms over her face. "It never ends," she proclaimed dramatically. "Just give me ten minutes."

"Do you want me to pick a pair of shoes to match your dress?" Becca offered helpfully, clearly excited at the opportunity to pick her sister's wardrobe.

"Thanks, Becca," Payson replied, just about managing a weak smile. "You – " She was cut off by an abrupt, two-beat knock on the hotel door. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Flowers for Payson Keeler," the knocker replied.

"Flowers," Payson repeated, perking up immediately. She sat up and even smiled, genuinely and completely. "They'll be from Sasha," she said excitedly, eagerly crossing the room. Then she opened the door to find a huge bouquet of purple gerberas filling her entire vision.

"Your favourite, I believe," offered a familiar voice.

She was pretty sure she squealed. And she might have even been embarrassed of that if she wasn't so busy throwing her arms around Sasha and kissing him senseless. "I can't believe you're here," she awed, pulling away from him for a breath and then kissing him once more for good measure.

Sasha smiled warmly and brushed a hand against her cheek. "Of course I'm here," he replied, as though he never had any intention of not coming although he might have let her believe otherwise. He was sure that Payson knew him well enough to expect him anyways, just as he knew that in spite of her assurance that it was for the best and that she didn't mind, there was still a very large part of her that wanted him to be there to see her win her second National title.

"I hoped you would be," she admitted quietly, bowing her head to his chest and settling herself there.

"I wouldn't miss it for all the world, _iubita,_" Sasha assured her. "I love you," he added in a low tone, ducking his head so he could whisper in her ear.

Payson hummed her agreement softly, lifting her chin from his chest so could glance up at him. "Love you too," she said, kissing him once again. A moment or two later, they finally pulled apart, and Payson gave him room to say hello to Becca while she searched the suite for something to hold her huge bouquet of flowers.

"Are you going to go to the party?" Becca asked him as she fell under Sasha's arm and gave him a quick hug – Sasha was, after all, practically family.

"Why'd you have to remind me?" Payson asked with a groan. "I could have honestly said I forgot."

"I can if you'd like me to," Sasha offered.

"You can't," Payson grimaced. "It's for National team members only."

"So no chance of getting out of it?" he guessed.

Payson shook her head, practically sinking into his side as he lifted an arm around her shoulders. "None whatsoever," she replied. "My presence was especially requested for the evening," she added pompously. Sasha threw back his head in a laugh and she found herself smiling in return, despite the anticipated strain of an evening with the NGO.

"Then I suppose it would be wrong of me to try and tempt you away," Sasha said, forcing himself to appear serious. "Especially not with the possibility of a late supper and your choice of movie."

"That would be very wrong," Payson agreed, her smile widening at his proposition. "I probably only have to stay a couple of hours," she suggested eagerly. "I could come meet you at nine?"

"Nine it is," Sasha confirmed. Then he kissed her goodbye, leaving her to get ready so he could start making arrangements for their date later that evening.

"Crap, it's quarter to seven," Payson noted as she saw the time posted on the bedside radio. "I have to get ready." She was suddenly racing around the room, grabbing her dress from the closet and then her shoes and make up bag from her luggage.

"I thought you didn't really want to go," Becca laughed, surprised to see her sister so eager to spend time at an NGO gathering.

"I don't," Payson replied simply, "but the sooner we get there, the sooner I can leave."

* * *

_Zodiac Terrace – Chase Park Plaza_

"Can we leave yet?" Payson asked, looking first at her watch, then her cellphone, and then back to her watch as though there might be some deviance that allowed her to escape this torture.

Her three friends frowned at her incredulously. "We've only been here for an hour," Kaylie pointed out.

"Feels like three," Payson groused, laying her head against the cool glass of the high table.

"At least the food's good," Emily offered, trying to see the best of things. She picked up one of the hors d'oeuvres from the plate in the centre of their table and popped it in her mouth. Her features immediately creased with disgust and she picked up a napkin, discreetly spitting out the morsel. "Except for that one," she declared disdainfully.

Lauren scoffed haughtily, her nose in the air. "You're so unrefined, Kmetko," she said, picking up a hors d'oeuvre similar to the one that Emily jus spat out. "Caviar is a delicacy," she said snootily, take a small, delicate bite at the morsel. Her expression mirrored Emily's, and it was only her pride that allowed her to swallow. "That is _bad_ caviar," she said, quickly washing down the taste with a nearby glass of water.

"I can't believe they would serve us something of such poor quality," she continued belligerently, rather than simply admitting that caviar wasn't her cup of tea either. "I'm going to have a word with the servers," she said as she spotted some unfortunate waiter who was about to feel the full wrath of Steve Tanner's daughter.

"Do you think we should go after her?" Emily asked as they watched her stalk across the room and the waiters quaking at her approach. Kaylie considered it for a moment, but shook her head emphatically – no way did she want to get caught up in the crossfire when Lauren had her heart set on complaining.

"How long has it been?" Payson asked, her head still down on the table, the little scene between Emily and Lauren only providing a fleeting distraction to how badly she wanted to be somewhere else.

"Only five minutes," Emily said, looking sympathetic. "You better look lively," she said, her expression suddenly strained. She prodded lightly at Payson's shoulder, urging her to stand up proper. "The new National Team Co-ordinator is heading this way."

At the warning Payson stood up straight like she was told, plastering a bright smile on her face. The oily National Team Co-ordinator was still some way away, giving her a bit more time to prepare herself for what would undoubtedly make this evening more unpleasant.

Marcus McGowan, Beals' replacement, had been a part of the NGO prior to his promotion in a minor public relations role. After the scandal created by Ellen Beals' behaviour in Florida, he was exactly what they needed to get the public back on side and to assure their investors that everything was going to plan. The later was, after all, the purpose of this little get together – to keep the NGO's sponsors happy.

Dressed in a fine Italian suit, Mr McGowan had the sort of oily charm that could sell snow to an Eskimo and charm the pants off a cloistered nun. He had the sort of smile that made Payson shudder reflexively and made her wonder if they were somehow better off with Ellen Beals. At least they knew what Beals was up to and what her grand plan had been. Marcus McGowan represented a new type of evil. They knew he had ulterior motives and his own plans for them, but at the moment they had no idea what those were supposed to be.

He greeted each of them in turn with that superficial smile of his, but dismissed Emily almost immediately. "Kaylie, Payson, I have someone I'd like you to meet," he said, lifting a hand to indicate he wanted them to come with him. They smiled apologetically at Emily, who waved them away and said she'd go find Lauren and save the other girl from herself.

"Though I'm sure I have no need to remind you," Mr McGowan said as he led them across the party, "the NGO is very invested in your futures. We all share the same goals, and we are working together to help you reach that potential."

Payson smiled politely, letting Kaylie reply on her behalf. "That means so much to us, Mr McGowan," Kaylie told him. They both understood what he was really saying – you owe us, so play nice – and that they were being called upon to work the NGO's big name investors.

With his words said, and their assurances given, Mr McGowan stepped away from them, offering his hand to a slightly frail looking smaller man in a grey three-piece suit. Kelly Parker and her mother were already with him, Shiela Baboyan looking none to pleased to see the other girls involved. "Andrew, these are the girls I spoke to you about," he said, waving a gesture in Payson and Kaylie's direction before offering their names. "Girls, this is Andrew Jennings from Kellogg's.

"Kaylie Cruz is a two-time National Champion and favoured to medal on floor at the Olympics," Mr McGowan explained, heavily impressing their importance on Mr Jennings. "And Payson Keeler here is the current World Champion."

"I admit I'm not a big follower of gymnastics," Mr Jennings admitted unashamedly as he shook their hands. "Marcus has been telling me how well you both did today."

"Thank you, Mr Jennings," Payson said politely, smiling slightly. "We've all worked incredibly hard to get here."

"Oh yes," Mr Jennings agreed. "A very impressive work ethic. I doubt you get any time to yourselves at all."

"We do _occasionally_ get the day off," Kaylie put in, forcing a laugh. "We usually have to schedule them in advance," she joked. Mr Jennings seemed to take an immediate liking to her humour and gave her his fullest attention. He asked about her gymnastics and what their training was like, and then questions about her home life, which Kaylie only answered in the vaguest sense.

"Parental support is just _so_ important in this," Shiela Baboyan interjected, seemingly in response to some comment made by Kaylie. "I always think of how proud Kelly's father would be if he was still with us," she said sentimentally. Mr Jennings seemed to take the bait, turning to Kelly now who offered some speal about doing gymnastics for her dead father (which was odd, because Payson had always thought that Shiela Baboyan was a divorcee, not a widow). Kaylie was momentarily forgotten.

Payson wasn't oblivious to what was happening here. She'd heard the rumours, just like everyone else, that Kellogg's was shopping for a new face to grace their Frosty Flakes, and USA Gymnastics was in the forefront of the competition. Marcus McGowan was showing Jennings exactly what the NGO had to offer, and trying to play them off against each other for the position of primacy usually reserved for Team Captain. It was a game that Payson had no interest in playing, just as she had no interest in taking the position of Team Captain when Kaylie and Kelly both wanted and needed that external validation more than she ever would.

Which is why what Shiela did next didn't really surprise her. She wasn't sure how she came into the conversation, but obviously Mr Jennings had expressed interest in her – as National and World Champion she was the obvious choice for Team Captain – and Shiela was quick to dissuade him of it.

"Oh, you've probably seen all the coverage of her relationship with Sasha Belov," Shiela said disinterestedly. "He's that rebel gymnast that was almost kicked out of the Olympics for unsportsmanlike conduct."

Mr Jennings suddenly looked wary of her, as though the conduct was her own and the incident happened last week instead of eight years ago. Shiela smiled victoriously.

Surprisingly, it was Marcus McGowan that quickly came to Sasha's defence. "I'm not sure it was as serious as all that," Mr McGowan waved off with a laugh. "Christ, that happened years ago. I'm surprised you even remembered, Shiela," he said, his voice chilling a little as he narrowed his eyes at the woman.

Shiela glared back for a moment, before forcing a lighter expression. "I suppose you're right, Marcus," she said, her address dripping with the same chilling edge. She conceded the apology, but wasn't quite done with whatever damage she intended to reap. "You girls probably don't remember any of it," she said, addressing Kaylie and Payson although the comment was really meant for Mr Jennings' ears. "You were only eleven at the time."

Payson smiled tightly. "Sasha's had a long and successful career in gymnastics," she said plainly. "I think we were about that age when he won his first Olympic title," she added.

"I'm sorry, Mr Jennings," she said, turning her attention to the man from Kellogg's. "You'll have to excuse me. It's been a very strenuous day, and I think it's all getting a bit too much for me.

"I'll leave Kelly and Kaylie to entertain you," she finished, the addendum solely for Mr McGowan's benefit, letting him know that she had no interest entertaining him herself. She shook Mr Jenning's hand before she went, offering a pleasant goodbye to the rest of the group.

She quickly left the party, seeing no reason to stay any longer, and headed back down to the hotel suites below. To a one bedroom suite one floor above her own. Her hand tapped out a four beat rhythm on the wooden façade, and he opened the door immediately, both surprised and delighted to see her.

"Am I too early," she asked coyly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her chin dropped towards her chest so she could look at him through her lashes.

Sasha smiled back, his expression warm and inviting. "You're right on time."

~ to be continued ~

__As you can see, things are still not well with the NGO. They're a bit like a noxious weed - Ellen Beals was the head and they just chopped off that bit, but the roots are still there. But Sasha's there, and who could possibly be sad with Sasha around?

* * *

**Notes:**

I made a ridiculous detailed table of the scores in each event (broken down into difficulty and execution) so you could get a fuller picture of what happened. Particular details of relevance is that Payson is no.1 on all but beam (3, but quite close to Kaylie). Kelly Parker had a notably low score on beam and Kaylie on bars. Emily tied with KP on bars. Lauren was first on beam. I'm trying work out how to share it, because it gives a great idea of where the strengths and weaknesses lie on the potential team so you can start speculating about who gets spot 6 for the Olympics (the US team already has three potential AAs so the All Around rankings have little bearing on whose going - it's individual strengths that matter, thus the table).

I started writing Payson's 'What's In Your Gym Bag?' interview to start this chapter, but scrapped it after a few paragraphs. Anyways, I could be convinced to add some more to it as a deleted scene if anyone's interested.

* * *

**Translations:**

****_Te iubesc, Alexandru. La revedere:_ I love you, Alexandru. Goodbye (for now).


	53. Caught Out

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Caught Out

Payson just drifted on the edge of consciousness, her eyes fluttering against the beam of sunlight hitting her from the bedroom window. The first sign that she wasn't where she was supposed to be, as Lauren would never leave a curtain open to interrupt her beauty sleep. She turned her head away, snuggling up into the warm body beside that provided the perfect shelter from the glare of the sun.

Sasha held her closer for a moment and then asked in quiet tone, "Are you awake?"

"No," she answered him, burrowing her head into his chest. She felt more than she heard him chuckle at her reply, his chest vibrating slightly under her grasp.

"We should get up soon," Sasha suggested against his better judgment. It wasn't something he actually wanted to do – not with her curled so wonderfully against him wearing little more than the plain t-shirt he leant her the night before – but he was still aware that she wasn't supposed to be there right now and that if Marty or anybody else caught her sneaking back into her room there would be hell to pay.

Payson mewled in protest, shaking her head in disagreement. Then she pulled the sheets up over her head defiantly, hiding beneath the covers as though that would somehow allow her to pretend that it was still night and let her go back sleep. Any attempt of doing so was thwarted, however, by Sasha's complete lack of cooperation. He dragged her over him, his hands sliding up her sides and tickling her under his shirt until she had no choice but to beg for mercy and admit that she was awake and that sleep was for sissies.

"You're mean," she declared with a childish pout, glaring up at him now from their altered positions. Sasha hovered over her, smirking at his apparent victory. And yet she had him right where she wanted him. She slid her hands slowly up his chest, watching as the smirk slowly slid off his lips and his stormy blue eyes darkened. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her body up against him and pressing her cheek against his as she whispered softly in his ear, "You don't really want to get up, do you?"

He swallowed thickly and moved his head ever so slightly in the negative, entranced by the rare, sultry tone of her voice. She shifted again, loosening her grip around his neck so that she could slide her hands towards his shoulders and trail kisses from his cheek, down the column of his neck towards his breastbone.

"You'll be the death of me, _iubita_," he accused affectionately, regaining some of his senses now that she wasn't pressed quite so firmly against him. She shrugged indifferently, sending him an innocent looking smile. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the back of the hand on his shoulder. "_Te iubesc atât de mult_," he told her lowly. _"Prea mult_," he added thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.

Payson smiled back at him, lifting her head to press a chaste kiss to his lips. "I love you."

She kissed him once again, internally working up the confidence to broach a subject that had been on her mind for a while now. "I'm ready," she said as she pulled away, her gaze locked with his in a way that she hoped conveyed the sincerity of those two words.

His expression flittered from confusion to shock then back to confusion before finally settling on worry and concern. "Payson, I . . . you don't . . . ," he swallowed once more. "You don't have to just because I said . . ."

Payson cut him off with an annoyed huff and the rolling of her eyes. Sasha could be such a boy sometimes. And a bit of a jerk quite frankly – at least when it came to this particular subject. When it came to sex, he made her all too conscious of the nine-year age gap between them and treated her like some delicate little flower that he needed to protect.

Only she thought that they were past that. Hadn't they already had that conversation? Hadn't he promised not to treat her like a child? To accept that she was capable of making her own decisions?

She pushed him away, the mood effectively killed by his rather patronizing assumption. Not that her being ready meant she wanted to have sex then and there, although perhaps she could have done with making that a bit clearer and maybe have avoided his current reaction. Despite her attempts to avoid getting up, she knew they only had an hour tops before she had to get back to her room, but they were looking a very promising _something_ before he went and ruined it by being stupid.

She sat up beside him, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed. He knew he was about to be chewed out.

"Is that what you really think, Sasha?" she asked pointedly. "That I suddenly feel obliged to have sex with you just because you told me that you love me.

"In English," she added, reminding him that she'd known exactly what he was saying pretty much the whole time. It turned out that she was quite the romantic when she wanted to be, because one of the first things she did once she was sure in her feelings was to look up how to say 'I love you' in Romanian.

He looked guilty, and rightly so. "I didn't think that," he protested. "I just . . . I don't know what I was thinking," he said. "I'm sorry, _dragă_. I was being an idiot."

"Yes you were," Payson agreed. "I thought you knew better than that," she added sadly.

"I do," Sasha said confidently, propping himself up on his side and reaching up to cup his hand against her cheek. "I know you've probably been thinking about it for awhile now." She smiled when he guessed correctly, redeeming himself for his earlier stupidity. She let him guide her forward, his lips conveying his apology and hers accepting it in return.

"What I meant to say," he said, looking sheepish and contrite. "Are you sure, Pay?" he asked her seriously.

She nodded. "I love you and I want to be with you, Sasha," she told him surely. "You know I wouldn't make a decision like this lightly and that I wouldn't do something unless it was what I wanted.

"I'm ready," she told him again, her voice filled with greater confidence. "So whenever you . . ." she trailed off, letting Sasha decided how that sentence was supposed to end.

"Whenever?" he asked her, lifting an eyebrow and sending her a suggestive smirk.

She rolled her eyes and hit him again on his shoulder, ignoring his feigned cry of pain. "Not right now," she said in an even, no-nonsense tone. "I have to get back to my room before Marty gets up and finds out you're here doing depraved things to one of his gymnasts," she said in an ominous, sarcastic tone.

She threw back the covers and began sliding out of the bed, only have Sasha catch her around the waist and drag her back beside him. "You've got half an hour before you have to leave," he told her in a low tone, the wicked smile on his lips almost predatory. "I can think of some pretty depraved things we could do in half an hour."

"Oh really?" she challenged.

"Really," he assured.

* * *

_Marque Café – Chase Park Plaza_

"So?" Lauren demanded, watching Payson intently from across the table.

"So what?" Payson replied, genuinely unaware of what Lauren was referring to. Lauren, being Lauren, assumed she was just playing dumb.

"You know what, Payson Keeler," Lauren replied sharply, throwing back her hair. "Don't think I don't know for a second what you got up to last night," she said with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

"And I totally covered for you with Summer." The addendum was, of course, that because she had covered for her with Summer (who was _way_ too trusting to be charged with the post of chaperone), Payson was now obliged to reveal all the intimate details of her relationship with Sasha.

"Nothing happened last night," Payson replied honestly.

Her night with Sasha had been incredibly innocent. They'd had a late supper together from room service and begun watching a psychological thriller (she'd taken pity on him in her movie choice). But she'd been so exhausted that she'd fallen asleep on him part way through what had actually been a really interesting movie, and Sasha had gently coaxed her to bed after that despite her protests. She'd spent the night perfectly content, falling asleep in Sasha's arms after one last kiss goodnight.

The morning, on the other hand . . .

She wondered if Lauren realized that she was just playing on semantics, as she looked thoroughly unconvinced. Or maybe it was simply that obvious from the smile on her face and the slightly dreamy look when she thought about Sasha. "Don't play coy, Keeler," she said blithely. She pointed at her accusingly with her cutlery. "You had sex with Sasha and I – want – details."

"WHAT?"

Payson wished it had been her own outraged cry that suddenly brought the dining room to silence. Instead it was the yell of their coach looking pale and furious and like he was probably having a heart attack. The only way this could have been worse was if her father had chosen to walk by instead.

Lauren at least had the decency to look guilty as Payson slipped from her seat and silently led their coach somewhere private where they could talk without all the eavesdroppers. This was probably going to be the most painful conversation of her life.

"Marty, it's not what you think," she protested as soon as they were alone and away from prying eyes. "Lauren was just being Lauren. I'm not – "

"Did you spend last night with Sasha?" he questioned, his tone dangerously even. She bit her lip and nodded cautiously, which only seemed to enrage him. "Dammit, Payson!" he cried out, his voice rising momentarily. He took a breath to calm himself, deliberately lowering his voice and somehow seeming angrier in that act. "What if somebody else heard that?" he asked accusingly, practically hissing as he kept his voice to a low whisper. "What if instead of me it had been Marcus McGowan or some NGO stooge?"

Payson blinked in confusion, not understanding the content of his argument. He was mad – quite obviously – but not in the way that he thought he would be. This wasn't about her being with Sasha, so much as it was about letting Lauren loudly announce it to those around them.

"I can't believe you would be so careless, Payson," he said angrily. "That's a complete breach of the athletes code and you know it."

She did. She knew perfectly well that she shouldn't have been there, but at the time she couldn't bring herself to care. Even now she didn't regret the decision to stay the night with Sasha, and it would be impossible to promise Marty that it wouldn't happen again. She had too much respect for Marty to out and out lie to him like that.

Instead she deflected, perhaps hoping Marty might not notice her silence. "This isn't a National Team event," she said weakly in her defence. "The athletes code doesn't apply here."

"But it was in Saint Petersburg," Marty deadpanned in response.

She gaped. She didn't think that Marty knew about that.

"Payson, I get it," he said more gently. "I get that you're still just regular girls and that there will be boys and parties and all that other crap. But there are rules," he reminded her, "and I'm not always going to be able to protect you from their consequences."

"Marty, I'm sorry," she said with benediction, lowering her gaze.

"I know," Marty nodded, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," he asked her.

"I promise," she said in return, knowing that it was a promise that she could keep. Perhaps Marty knew better than most how hard it was to stay away from someone that you were attracted to, and that the more barriers and oaths you tried to put between, the more likely you were to yield.

"Good," Marty replied. "And you can tell Sasha if I see him at all this weekend I'm gonna kick ass, alright?"

She nodded, unable to help smiling.

"Go tell the rest of them to hurry up," he directed, sending her on her way now that matters had been settled. "The Men's competition starts in an hour and I want you girls looking your best to support your teammates."

* * *

_Chaifetz Arena – St Louis University, MO_

_"And now presenting your United States Men's Artistic Gymnastics Champion. Austin Tucker!"_

The girls all cheered loudly as their Rock teammates took the podium, Austin bowing his head to receive his medal and nearly killing a bouquet of yellow roses as he waved them around in the air.

"I'm so glad he won," Kaylie admitted and the other girls agreed once she had said it first. It was always good to see your teammates succeed, but it was even better to have things finally getting back to normal. With all the drama that had been happening lately, they'd almost forgotten what normal was like.

"Our turn tomorrow," Lauren noted, her voice becoming soft and sentimental.

"Our last ever," Emily added.

"I can't believe we're almost there," Payson awed, her mouth dropping slightly as the enormity of what was happening settled over her. It was the first concrete step towards the Olympics and that goal suddenly seemed more real than ever before. "Just tomorrow and then one more competition. Then the Olympics."

The noise level dropped around them, just a low buzz as everything seemed to slow and they let the realizations settle over them. Then Kaylie held out a hard towards the girls either side of her – to Payson and Lauren – fingers all curled into a fist but for the little finger. "To the great goddess of gymnastics," she said reverently, grinning brightly.

The other three all returned her smile, hooking their pinkies through one another's and repeating Kaylie's words in the same reverent tone.

"To the great goddess of gymnastics."

~ to be continued ~

* * *

**Notes:**

For those that haven't read it yet, the 'What's In Your Gym Bag' deleted scene is up on the LJ version.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Iubita: _my love_  
__Te iubesc atât de mult_. _Prea mult: _I love you so much. Too much


	54. Reigning Champion

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Reigning Champion

_Chaifetz Arena – St Louis University, MO  
June 9 2012_

"In just a few minutes, the Senior Women will take the floor for competition," Tim Daggett announced in an ominous tone, building up the anticipation of what was to come. "The final round of this years Visa Championship."

"And here with us now," Elfi Schlegal segued, "we have MJ Martin from IMG management to give her predictions.

"Who do you see taking the top spot this Nationals?" she asked eagerly, turning to the dark haired sports agent who'd become a fixture at Nationals due to her ability to spot talent.

"I think it will Payson Keeler," MJ answered surely, "and I think it will be by one of the largest margins we've seen yet.

"Just based upon what we've seen of Payson this year," she explained, "Payson continues to set herself apart from her competitors, both here and overseas. She is a very strong favourite for this competition and the coming Olympics."

"And what about Kelly Parker and Kaylie Cruz?" Tim asked curiously. "Both girls have been fierce rivals for Payson in the past, and I think Kelly Parker is looking to finally consolidate her titles before she retires."

"Not this year," MJ said, with a shake of her head. "I think we'll be seeing a close competition between Kelly and Kaylie for silver, but not for gold."

"Any other year, any one of those girls would have been a shoe-in for National Champion," Tim agreed. "But not this year." Tim and Elfi nodded their thanks, dismissing her so they could now talk about themselves.

"Now Kelly had some difficulties on Beam yesterday – just a 14.150, which is not the sort of score we're used to seeing from Kelly Parker," Tim explained, going over Day 1 for those who had just joined. "I'm hoping that we'll see a much stronger performance from her today."

"She's got a lot of ground she needs to make up if she wants to come even close to Payson," Elfi noted. "Payson already has a two point lead over her closest competition.

"But if anyone could do it, I think it would be Kelly Parker," she added with admiration. Kelly Parker had always been one of her personal favourites. "She's a great little athlete that can just pick herself right back up after something like that. She went straight from that fall to a phenomenal Amanar on vault."

"And as to Kaylie Cruz," Tim said, wanting to compare the two girls nearly neck and neck for silver. "If she still wants to be considered an All-Around gymnast, she's going to need some serious upgrades to her Uneven Bars routine. A 6.0 start value just isn't going to cut it against her own teammates, let alone China's Genji Cho."

"Admittedly, that was intended as a 6.2, but Kaylie missed out on one of the major connections in her routine," Elfi defended, "but I do see your point Tim. With such a low start value, she's at an immediate disadvantage especially against gymnasts like Payson and Genji who have absolutely meticulous execution – they won't be giving an inch on their already elevated start values."

"Here come the athletes," Elfi said, as she noted some movement on the floor below them. "The girls are just going through some brief warm-ups on the floor, and then they'll move towards their apparatuses."

"The NGO have invited twenty-four girls to Nationals this year," Tim reminded their audience, the number slightly greater than usually expected for the National competition. "For nine of these girls, this is their first year competing as a Senior."

"Which is certainly something to hold against them in team selection," Elfi pointed out. "Experience and consistency are important currency going into the Olympics, and it's something the top three girls have in spades. All three have an extensive list of National and International accolades collected over the last four years, which are going to leave a lasting impression on the judges when it comes to choosing the six girls for the Olympics."

Tim nodded his agreement, watching as the girls began to scatter around the arena. "And it looks like we have our top three together in the same rotation," he nodded with approval. That would certainly make things easier on all of them. "Starting on vault, which will give Payson Keeler and Kelly Parker an immediately head start over Kaylie Cruz."

"Just waiting on the judges," Elfi said a few moments later. "And now, first up on vault we have Hayley Greene form UCLA, with Lauren Tanner from the Rocky Mountain Training Centre on beam. From WOGA, Elizabeth Nelson on bars, and Andrea Conway from Boston Elite on floor."

* * *

"Mom! Dad!" Becca called out excitedly as she found her parents in the crowd of spectators, a seat saved beside them for when she arrived.

"You were so good, Becca," her Mom said proudly, standing to embrace her. "I don't think you've ever been better." Beca beamed at the praise, letting herself be passed between her parents before coming to the free seat next to her dad.

"Your Mum's right," Sasha agreed from her other side (yes, her Dad had voluntarily sat beside Sasha – Payson was going to be so happy when she told her). "If they don't give you the gold on Beam, they're idiots."

She smiled brightly, the words all the more meaningful from someone as knowledgeable on gymnastics as Sasha. All the girls in her rotation had been so jealous to see _Sasha Belov_ cheering for _her_ specifically, even if Larissa Waverly had said he only did it because he had to. Anyone who knew _anything_ about Sasha Belov knew he would never cheer out of obligation, not even to gain favour with Payson (especially as at this point there was very little he could do to fall out of Payson's favour). Larissa – who everyone hated anyway – was so jealous that she completely messed up her floor routine and stepped out of bounds on two of her tumbling passes.

"Where's Payson?" she asked, scanning the floor for her sister.

"Just below us, I think," answered Sasha. "She's next on Vault."

Satisfied, Becca turned her attention to the gymnast currently poised at the end of the runway. Kaylie had been first up and now it was Kelly Parker's turn, performing a very nice Amanar. There was no trace of residual pain from her 'injury' in Florida – not that Becca actually expected her to be showing signs of injury given her knowledge of what _really_ happened with Kelly's vault.

_"Next up on Vault: Payson Keeler. On Bars: Emily Kmetko. On Beam . . ."_

Becca watched raptly as her sister took her place at the end of the vault runway. A 6.5 start value was posted by her name, indicating that she was starting with her easier vault. The term was relative, of course. Payson had been working on the Tsukahara 2.5 for more than two years, and landing it solidly since the 2011 American Cup. Her 'easier' vault – a round-off flic-flac half on with a stretched salto with one and a half twists – was one she'd only upgraded over the last six months, and while it was competition ready, it still wasn't at the same level as her Tsukahara vault or the full twist she upgraded from.

Becca was sure that any other gymnast in the country would be more than happy with the sorts of scores Payson was posting on what she considered a poor vault. She scored a 15.450 on her 'bad vault' the previous day, which outscored everyone but Kelly Parker on their good vaults. Just more proof that her sister was certifiably insane.

The score for Kelly Parker's second vault was posted as Payson walked back to her start position. It was a well-deserved 15.750, and it looked like it would be close on vault. Payson would need to do better than Kelly's average from the previous day if she wanted to secure the gold in this event.

All that looked doubtful for a moment after the first of Payson's vault scores were posted, slightly lower than her Day 1 score. But her second vault had been perfect, or as close as you could get to perfect under the current code of points. This was confirmed a few minutes later when Payson was given a 16.155 for her more difficult vault.

"Yes," she heard Sasha utter beside her, giving a small pump of his fist. Some complex mental arithmetic told anyone interested that her chances of being knocked out of that position were non-existent. The only person close was Sabrina Banks from WOGA, and in order to knock Payson out of first place she would need to score a perfect ten on both of her vaults with an extra six tenths thrown in to make up the difference.

"One down," her dad said proudly, having obviously reached the same conclusion as Sasha. Seriously, it was like they shared a brain or something.

With her sister's place secure, Becca took the time to see how the other Rock girls were going. After the first rotation, Emily and Lauren were both leading in their individual specialties, the Uneven Bars and Balance Beam respectively. But unlike the Vault standings, which were unlikely to change markedly in later rotations, those results were still hugely uncertain with Payson, Kaylie, and Kelly yet to perform on the same events. Nothing could be known for sure with Payson and Kelly's insanely hard Uneven Bars routines still to come, and with Kaylie still to perform on Beam.

"Is it terrible that I want Payson to do the Arabian just so I can see the look on Steve Tanner's face when Payson knocks Lauren off the podium?" her Mom asked, probably voicing all their thoughts aloud. Lauren's lead was only two tenths at present, and would be unlikely to hold once Payson's double Arabian dismount raised her degree of difficulty from a 6.3 to a 6.6. It was a little bit terrible of her mother to want that, but it was Steve Tanner they were talking about, so still totally forgivable.

Kaylie was first on Beam in the group, as she had been on Vault. How the NGO were ordering the rotations wasn't exactly clear, but Payson wasn't until the end of the group, performing fifth between Kelly Parker and Harriet Pryce from All Olympia.

Next to Lauren, of course, Becca reckoned that Kaylie was probably one of the best beamers in the gym. She was fun to watch and she always made everything look so easy and natural. Plus she did the back flip into full-twisting lay out combination that Becca desperately wanted to include in her own beam routine. Kaylie's routine was gorgeous from start to finish, ending with a powerful double salto.

The two girls that followed were okay, but nothing to really write home about. They were good beamers, which was obviously what had gotten them their invitation to Nationals given that it was potentially a weak point for the US team. They both gave solid performances, but nothing that really put them in contention against the top girls from The Rock. The Rock would likely take a sweep in the Beam competition.

Kelly Parker was next, much improved upon her Day 1 performance. And then it was Payson's turn to take the beam, starting with an aerial walkover and finishing with a gainer salto. In between was one of Becca's favourite skills within her sister's repertoire, despite its low value – a _fouette _hop with a half turn to arabesque, which was so graceful and beautiful that Becca was sure the whole audience had been stunned into silence. It was something so simple – a B-skill even – and yet it was awe inspiring all the same.

"She looks so elegant," Becca whispered, unable to keep her admiration to herself. The men either side of her each gave a stoic nod of agreement, both of them transfixed on the figure below as she practically twirled off the apparatus and landed gracefully beside it. Becca was pretty sure she saw her dad wiping a tear from his eye as he applauded, then giving a cheer similar to the one Sasha gave earlier as her score was posted, a 15.425 combining with her score from the previous day to secure her a silver on beam. At this rate, she would more than likely secure her second National Championship.

"Hey, Sasha, what's London like?" Becca asked suddenly, her question seemingly coming out of nowhere to those around her. For her it was simply a logical progression from _Payson is so gonna win this_ to _Oh my god! My sister's going to the Olympics_ to _I wonder what London's like_. Thus her question.

"It's nice," Sasha told her in a vague sort of way that wasn't particularly helpful. Payson _loved_London, and Becca was sure that this wasn't solely because it was where Sasha lived. 'Nice' just wasn't going to cut it, especially when they'd be spending practically a whole month there soon enough.

"It's pretty busy, but there's lots for you to do there," Sasha added, giving her more details. "It's got an amazing culture and there are so many different places to explore.

"Lots of shopping," he added, figuring that would likely interest Becca.

She smiled, satisfied with the answer and turning her gaze towards Floor where Emily was tumbling at high speed.

"I'll have to have you all over for dinner at some point," Sasha added, perhaps speaking more to himself. Like her, he had already assumed that Payson would be making the Olympic Team. Or maybe he was thinking further forward than that.

Becca just shrugged, not wanting to confirm it aloud in case she somehow jinxed Payson's position. Instead it was her Dad who acknowledged the thought with a lowly spoken, "That'd be nice."

Becca couldn't help but agree.

* * *

Women's All Around Standings Day 2 and Final Scores - 2012 Women's U.S. Visa Championship

_**1. Payson Keeler – 127.270  
Rocky Mountain Training Centre**_

_**2. Kelly Parker – 122.200  
Denver Elite**_

_**3. Kaylie Cruz – 121.925  
Rocky Mountain Training Centre**_

* * *

Everything seemed to pass by in a whirlwind blur. There was an award ceremony, and then two press conferences, and then just enough time for them to get changed before they were ushered into a large ballroom for a celebration.

A loud cheer arose from the crowd as the ten girls entered, all of them moving on to the next stage in the selection process. Olympic Team Trials were in a little over two weeks, giving them little time to improve on what had already been shown at Nationals, but nothing was set in stone.

Payson found her family quickly amongst the throe of people. It wasn't too hard to do so given the way that Sasha and her father both towered above most of the people around them. Both men were over six foot tall and she rather thought her father put out by the fact that he couldn't intimidate Sasha with his height and build the way he could most boys her age.

She couldn't help but smile to see them – the two of them talking without any help from her Mom or Becca. It might have been the best thing she'd seen all day, except maybe her final score. But seeing Sasha and her dad genuinely getting along was a very close second.

"Sweetheart, we're so proud," Kim exclaimed once she was close, moving to take Payson into her arms. Becca and Mark followed suit, the family crowding around her to congratulate her. Sasha held back, letting her have this moment before he took his own.

"You were completely awesome," Becca said excitedly.

"Completely," her Dad agreed, only half-teasing Becca's enthusiasm. His expression was warm as he wrapped her tightly in a hug and kissed the top of her head. Her Dad was a man of few words, and that gesture alone said everything that he wanted to say.

Then it was Sasha's turn to greet her, playfully lifting her off the floor and spinning them both in a circle before he returned her to he feet. _"Frumoasa fata mea . . . Tu ai ceva aparte,"_ he told her, tracing the outline of her face from temple to chin with just the tips of his fingers.

She smiled at the familiar words and pressed up onto her toes to kiss him. It was only a brief kiss, the both of them still aware that her parents – particularly her Dad – were still around. When she pulled away from the kiss, she remained close, leaning into Sasha's side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. It was like the perfect ending to the perfect day – just standing there with the people she loved.

Of course, that didn't last long. Not with a party full of well-wishers all eager to congratulate her on the win, including some of her closest friends who she was happy to share these quiet moments with. Others . . . not so much.

Like Marcus McGowan looking as oily and slick as ever in a suit slightly darker than the one he was wearing two nights ago. "I must commend you on how well you've done, Payson," he said in an almost scripted fashion. "You must both be so proud," he added, turning to Kim and Mark who smiled pleasantly and shook his hand.

Then he rounded on Sasha, a glint in his eye that seemed almost predatory. "I don't believe we've formally introduced," he said offering his hand. "Marcus McGowan – Women's National Team Co-Ordinator."

"Alexandru Belov," Sasha replied quite formally, not making his usual offer that Sasha would be fine. Despite shaking Mr McGowan's hand, he maintained a cool distance between them, not letting his guard down until he knew exactly what the man was after.

"I hope you don't mind," Mr McGowan pushed forward, unfased by Sasha's cool. "I'd really like you to meet the rest of the committee." When Sasha frowned he elaborated further. "Payson is just such an important member of the National Team. We'd really like to get to know all the people who have contributed to her journey."

Sasha glanced towards Payson who was as clueless as Sasha when it came to Marcus McGowan's motives. Although, she was sure they were starting to show through and she suspected that his sudden interest in Sasha might have something to do with the Kellogg's deal and the man she had been introduced to the other night. She shrugged, letting him know that it was up to him to decide.

"Maybe another time," Sasha suggested carefully. "Let tonight be about the girls. You're going to be spoiled for choice at Olympic Team Trials," he added, hinting heavily at where Mr McGowan's attention should be focused.

But Mr McGowan would not be deterred, clinging fastidiously to his aim. "Belov," he said jovially, with far more familiarity than Sasha thought polite, "I'm sure you can spare a moment. We can – "

"Sasha, why don't you and I go get the girls something to drink?" Mark suggested, dropping a hand heavily on Marcus McGowan's shoulder and cutting him off mid-speech. He squeezed slightly, making it seem like nothing more than a casual reflex and then turned on the man with a chillingly pleasant smile. Marcus pulled back his hand immediately. "Can we get you anything, Mr McGowan?"

"No, Mr Keeler," Mr McGowan replied. "I should go congratulate the other girls," he added, finally taking the hints they'd been trying to drop about his unwelcomed presence. He quickly excused himself to go greet another group of people, although still glancing in their direction as though he was waiting for another chance to intrude. Payson smiled gratefully at her Dad for doing what she and Sasha couldn't.

"C'mon, Sport," Mark said, nodding his head to Sasha. "We better get those drinks before he gets the wrong idea."

"I'll have a Shirley Temple," Payson said to Sasha, smiling sweetly and then kissing his cheek.

"Me too," Becca said, intrigued by the sound of it. Kim just nodded, twenty-one years of marriage having firmly cemented her drink order in her husbands mind.

When the men returned with their drinks, Mark held up his glass of scotch in a toast. "To Payson," he said with a proud smile. "And to an uninterrupted evening."

* * *

Payson shivered slightly as a cool wind swept around her, catching her hair and storming the golden curls around her for a few moments before it settled back down. She leaned over the balcony, taking in the view from the top floor – the St Louis skyline was gorgeous and the Gateway Arch lit up across the water.

She was so absorbed in the view that she didn't even notice Sasha approaching until she felt his arms wrap around her from behind and his warm breath against her ear. "I finally have you to myself, _dragă_," he noted in a low tone, nuzzling against the juncture between her neck and shoulder. She shuddered ever so slightly, relaxing her body against his and drawing some of his warmth.

"Finally," she agreed wistfully, craning her neck to see him better. Sasha took full advantage of this new position, pressing his lips against her neck and earning himself a low hum of enjoyment.

And then Sasha's cellphone rang with some jingle that she didn't recognize, but which Sasha obviously did given the way he let out a small, frustrated groan. He obstinately tried to ignore it, continuing his ministrations against her neck and shoulder.

"You should answer that," she said smugly, grinning to herself. She should have known better than to goad him, and Sasha retaliated with a quick nip to her right shoulder.

"No I shouldn't."

She turned, sending him an incredulous look.

"It's Howard. He can wait," Sasha assured her before winding his fingers into her hair and bringing her lips to his. He kissed her to distraction, letting the call ring out so that he could put all of his attentions firmly where it belonged.

_"Who are you? Who, who? Who, who?"_

Sasha barely stifled a groan as his renewed attempts were once again interrupted, this time by The Who.

Payson reached for her purse, putting some distance between them as she found her ringing cell phone. "It can wait," she repeated sarcastically, sending him a knowing look. The number was unfamiliar, but she could guess the caller's identity from the +44 on her caller display.

"Hey, Howard," she said on answering, laughing as Sasha sulked in response. "Sasha's right here if you – "

Howard didn't let her finish and she listened intently as he spoke in an urgent tone. Her happy expression dropped from her face and she paled as the news sunk in. Sasha watched the change in her demeanour with growing concern.

"What is it?" he asked worriedly.

Payson shook her head, unable to find a way to soften the blow.

"Nikolai's had an accident."

~ to be continued ~

So lots of good stuff happened in this chapter (Payson winning, Mark and Sasha getting along) and then one really bad thing. I actually had to do a bit of a rewrite on the next couple of chapters because I'd created all these plot holes in the original version (most of them to do with time zones, so I might have actually gotten away with it so long as no one knew that London was 6 hours ahead of St Louis), but I think I'm happy with it now. I hope.

Anyways, real reason that I wanted to make an authors note was that I'm going to Oz in about two weeks time and while they do have the internet there and computers, I won't be bringing mine so I won't be updating for a couple of weeks while I'm there. Of course, I'm not going to leave you for several weeks on this horrible cliffhanger - hiatus starts after next chapter and then I'll start back up in February.

In the meantime, I'll have a bonus chapter in a couple of days, which is all about Nikolai and sort of hints at his 'accident'.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

___Frumoasa fata mea . . . Tu ai ceva aparte: _My beautiful girl . . . you have that something special


	55. State of Emergency

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - State of Emergency

_Charter 179 – Lambert-St Louis International Airport to London City Airport  
June 10 2012_

Sasha had hardly said a word since take off, bar ordering a glass of scotch from the flight attendant. Payson had been tempted to intervene and cancel the order, but couldn't bring herself to do so. He needed it – just something to numb him a little to the chaos in his mind – and if a glass of scotch was able to help him through this, then she would let him have that solace.

He held the glass in his hand, knuckles white from tension, but didn't bring the glass to his lips. The ice had already melted to the point where he would regard it as undrinkable, but he wouldn't let go even when the flight attendant offered to refresh his drink. It was more of a security blanket than anything else, and she couldn't blame him for needing it. Nikolai was like a father to him and the news was devastating – Nikolai's state of unconsciousness and simply the panic of not knowing. She didn't know what she would do if she was in Sasha's place, but doubted she'd be coping nearly as well.

She lay her head against his shoulder, gently stroking the back of his hand as she talked for both of them. Most of it was just nonsense and random subjects – nothing important. She talked to distract him more than anything else and keep his own thoughts at bay while they waited for better news.

"Mom was only about my age when they met," she said quietly, not really sure what inspired her to tell him this story. She wasn't even sure if he was really listening, but he would tense slightly if she paused too long, so she kept going all the same. "Dad was older, of course. He was finishing his undergrad and Mom was just a freshman – completely different circles. But Dad knew someone who knew Mom's cousin Jake, and somehow he ended up at her birthday party.

"Mom walked right up to him and told him it was her birthday and he had to dance with her. Apparently Dad was a sucker for punishment," she said, giving a small, hollow laugh. "That was it."

She sighed and shifted slightly so that she could lean more against him, her hand now resting on his chest. "It's cheesy," she said, her tone almost reluctant, "but I always hoped I'd find what they have. My own happy ending.

"And I have," she told him, her smile bittersweet and her eyes welling with tears. She lifted her head, pressing her lips briefly to his cheek. "I love you, Sasha."

He didn't respond, and that was okay. She didn't need to hear him say the words to know what he felt – she never had. So she shifted back to where she was, her hand resting on his upfacing palm, tracing along the lines and callouses that marred the surface.

"I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't make it through this," Sasha said, finally finding his voice. It was low and hoarse, almost as though it had gone unused for years and not merely hours. "I don't know . . ."

"I know," she said, pressing closer once again to remind him that she was with him. _He'll be alright_, she wanted to tell him – wanted it to be true – but she simply didn't know well enough to say. She _hoped_ he'd be alright, but there was no comfort in that.

"You know when they brought Becca home from the hospital, I thought she was for me," she told him, returning to her stories and feeling him relax a little more with each word. "I told them to take her back, because I hated dolls and I wanted a teddy-bear instead. It took my Dad an hour to explain that she was a baby and my new sister, and even then I still wanted the teddy."

Sasha nearly chuckled at the image she conjured, his breath leaving him in an almost laugh-like sound. Little Payson Keeler looking stubborn and petulant, and demanding that they replace her baby sister with something _she_ wanted.

He didn't say anything for the rest of the flight, but that was okay. Instead he just held her hand and she took that as a good sign.

Things were going to be okay. No matter what happened, things were going to be okay.

* * *

_National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery – London, England_

"He's stable," Howard said as soon as they arrived. It was the best news that he could give while Nikolai was still unconscious and the doctors were all fussing around about something in his bloods. Stable and unconscious was certainly better than he's not waking up and they don't know why.

Sasha just sort of stared at him, still unable to put his thoughts into words, and it was Payson who stepped forward to ask, "What happened?"

"I'm not really sure," he admitted tiredly. "Sergei woke up to a crash and found Nikolai at the bottom of the stairs unconscious. Best guess is that he lost his balance on the stairs and had a fall.

"Dammit, we had one of those bleedin' lifts put in just a month ago," he complained, his words coming out with a harsh hiss and his hands fisting at his sides. "This shouldn't have happened. He's just so bloody stubborn, you know?"

"I know," Payson replied gently, her hand falling lightly against his forearm. An explosion of anger like that was rare from Howard, although clearly self-directed. "You look tired," she noted, frowning in concern. It was different from your run of the mill, woken up in four in the morning kind of tired. He looked weary and older and as though the last twelve hours had taken years off his life.

"I'm fine," Howard protested, smiling weakly. "Just work and stuff. It's a hectic time of year."

Payson hardly looked convinced by his excuse, but she let it slide. It wasn't her place to push Howard to talk, although she wondered whose it was.

"This is Sergei," Howard said, forcing a change in subject. He gestured to a man seated nearby, who stood up at the sound of his name, joining the group. He was in his thirties, lean and dark with scraggly curls. "Nikolai's son," he explained.

She shook the hand Sergei offered, studying him carefully. Sergei shared few features with his father, and it was difficult to compare him to the image she had in her mind of an ever-smiling man who made her think of Santa.

"This is Sasha's girlfriend Payson," Howard continued, introducing her to Sergei in return.

"My father, he has talked about you often," Sergei told her, his English heavily accented. Payson just smiled tightly in reply, knowing of Sergei mostly from things that Sasha had told. Not much of which was complimentary to his person.

As soon as he dropped her hand it was like she no longer existed. He turned completely away from her, giving a terse nod towards Sasha as he spoke. "Now Belov is here we should speak again with the doctor," he suggested to Howard. "Perhaps he shall have new information."

Howard and Sasha both agreed, although Sasha non-verbally. "You must stay here," Sergei said, his head snapping back in her direction as she tried to move towards Sasha. She'd only been wanting to offer him comfort, not to force herself on the meeting, but she could see how Sergei would interpret her movement that way.

Sasha's expression tightened and he opened his mouth to protest against her dismissal, but Payson stepped in first. "That's fine," she said, before Sasha could say anything else. Now wasn't the time for an argument, especially not over her. "I'll be right here if you need me," she said reassuringly, kissing Sasha's cheek.

He nodded, kissing her soundly and taking what strength he could from her kiss. He hoped that whatever the doctor had to say, that it was good news. He knew he couldn't take any bad news without her.

They were not unfamiliar with Doctor Walters. Nikolai had been seeing him for more than a year now and he was considered one of the foremost scholars on MSA. It made it all the more disturbing when he didn't know what was happening.

"There's been no brain damage from the fall," Doctor Walters told them, speaking more to Sasha than the others, as this information was not new to Howard or Sergei. "We performed a brain scan on arrival and have been testing neurological function as best we can. All this is promising. There are no deviations from Nikolai's scan from six months ago.

"Had there been any recent changes in his behaviour?" the doctor asked, the question open to all of them.

Sergei offered a quick no, while Howard deferred to Sasha who spent more of his time with Nikolai than anyone else.

"I-I didn't notice," Sasha admitted, feeling like the worst person in the world. He hadn't seen anything different in Nikolai, but then why would he notice when he had his own dreams and goals at the forefront of his mind. He hadn't even known that Nikolai was sick until he collapsed in January and on good days he could even forget how sick Nikolai was.

"He's been sitting a lot," he said once he'd given it more thought. "He hasn't been sleeping properly so he's been more tired than usual. I just figured that was why he was sitting more. I didn't even think . . ."

Doctor Walters just nodded sympathetically. "Sadly these sort of falls aren't uncommon," the doctor noted with a concerned expression. "All that can be done here is to take steps to mitigate damage so that if Nikolai does fall or feel dizzy, he doesn't risk any serious injury."

"We have," Howard put in. "Sasha and I moved everything around so it was more convenient, and they finally got the lift put in last month. I don't know why this happened."

Sergei frowned and shook his head. "He doesn't like using it," he told them. "Keeps telling me: _YA ne tak bolen_."

"He's not _that_ sick_," _Sasha translated for those around him who did not understand Russian. Nikolai had said the same any time he offered to finish early for the day or tried to make concessions for his illness.

"If there hasn't been any injury, then why is he still not awake?" Sasha frowned, thinking back on what the doctor had told them so far. Head injuries weren't all infrequent in gymnastics (at least not when it involved overly impulsive boys trying to outdo one another with tricks they weren't ready for) and he'd never been knocked out for as long as this.

The doctor grimaced for being caught out in his attempts at evasion. "Sometimes a coma like this is the body's way of healing itself," he said in as a vague a way as he could manage. "There are some irregularities in Nikolai's blood work," he said, reluctant to share this knowledge and what it might mean. "We're performing what tests we can to try and work out what's wrong with him, but we won't have those results for another day or so, so we won't know for sure until then."

"What do you suspect?" Sasha asked, reading between the lines.

The doctor grimaced again. "We'd rather not say until we know for sure, Mr Belov," he said placatingly. That could mean one of two things: either they knew and it was something terrible and they were hoping that they'd gotten it wrong; or they had no idea and were just fudging their way around it until the bloods came back with some sort of trail for them to follow.

"Are we able to see him yet?" asked Howard, letting the subject lie. He could see in the little twitch of Sasha's jaw that his friend wanted to keep interrogating the doctor, but personally Howard would much rather let it go for now so the doctor could get back to figuring out how to make Nikolai better. People only ever told you what they were willing to impart, no matter how hard you pushed, and Howard knew better than to push a reluctant witness into giving up information.

"Of course," Doctor Walters replied, sounding obviously relieved for Howard's intercession. "He's been in a stable condition for several hours and we just transferred him to the ward.

"This way," he said, leading the three of them from his office to the nearby ward. "It's the end of visiting hours," the doctor warned, "so please make it quick. If you have any other questions, you can come see me again in my office before you go." He nodded farewell and then left them there waiting outside the room anticipating the worst.

"I will go first and then you will go," Sergei told them, holding up a hand to stop them before they even tried to enter the room. He headed inside while Howard and Sasha waited their turn.

"He's gonna get through this," Howard said weakly, his voice lacking its usual conviction. "He has to."

"And if he doesn't?" Sasha asked, still hanging on to the doctors ominous talk of blood tests and toxins.

Howard scowled at him. "Don't talk like that. He's gonna get through this," he said again, stronger this time.

Sasha shook his head uncertainly, but didn't fight him this time. "I should have been here," he said eventually, his both choking with emotion.

"And done what, Sasha?" Howard asked, growing angry now. "You couldn't have done any more than Sergei and I did. It'd just be one more person sitting around going out of his mind with worry.

"If anything, I should have let you stay there," Howard argued. "Let you have one more good day with Payson."

"You think that's what I want?" Sasha asked hotly, barely restraining the urge to raise his voice. He'd already been left out of the loop once before, and finding out so long after the fact last time had been heart breaking

"I think your girlfriend just got named the National Champion and you should be _celebrating_, Sasha," Howard retorted. "You should be enjoying that and sharing that with Payson. You shouldn't have to race back home to deal with something like this." He cooled considerably, the anger leaving him and making him loose his footing a little. "It's bad timing, that's all," he said tiredly. "We should have got another day."

"It's not like any of us had a choice," Sasha offered weakly, diffusing much as Howard had. As though they would ever choose for harm to come to their coach like this.

When Sergei finally allowed them to visit with Nikolai, there was no anger left in them. Just grief and sadness and the feeling that they were completely unprepared to deal with this situation.

Nikolai, who had always been so full of life, lay unconscious on his bed, his limbs limp and his expression grim. His skin look sickly pale and everything about him was just so very still.

Futility, that's what was left. The feeling that as bad as things might get, there was nothing that either of them could do about it.

~ to be continued ~

Just a reminded that the fic is on hiatus until February, when I get back from holiday. Hopefully this isn't too awful a point to leave you on, although it is leaving things with Nikolai unresolved.

I feel so sorry for all of them, especially Sasha and Howard. I think even I forget that Howard is as close to Nikolai as Sasha and is affected by what happens just as much. Maybe Sasha forgets too, that Howard was with Nikolai first and that just because Howard doesn't compete anymore, it doesn't mean that relationship is any less valued.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

___YA ne tak bolen:_ I am not so sick. Special thanks to the anonymous reviewer who fixed my Russian.


	56. Quid pro quo

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Quid pro quo

_Sasha's Apartment - Canary Wharf, London  
__June 11 2012_

"It's open," Payson called to a knock on the front door, not glancing up from the pan in her hand. She smiled at the familiar pad of paws against the hardwood floors as Rassilon rushed into kitchen, begging at her side.

"Hello, girl," she said, nudging the dog lightly with her foot. She glanced around quickly to make sure that no one was watching, then dropped a piece of luncheon for Rassilon to catch mid-air.

"Christ, that smells good," Howard said, following his nose to the kitchen where Payson was cooking a disgustingly greasy, feel-good breakfast. She smiled over her shoulder in greeting. "Where's Sasha?" he asked, looking around for the apartment's owner.

"Shower," she replied. "I made enough for two if you're interested," she offered.

"Oh go on, you twisted my arm," Howard said, not even taking a moment to consider her offer. A full English breakfast was a hard thing to resist.

They lulled into silence as Payson turned back to the stove, turning over the bacon sizzling in the pan.

"Payson, I just wanted to apologise for Sergei," Howard brought up awkwardly, shifting in his seat. "He's very protective of his father. You had every right to be there and I think – "

"It's fine," Payson assured him, cutting off his apology with a wave of her hand. "Yesterday was for family," she added, turning to offer a gentle, understanding smile.

Howard smiled a little at the description, appreciating the sentiment it implied. But then his expression fell, and he struggled to find the words he wanted – he wasn't used to being so inarticulate. "I really . . . I think we needed you in there," he said eventually. "Did Sasha say . . . ?"

She shook her head, not needing him to finish the question. "I didn't push it," she explained simply. Sasha had become quiet after leaving the hospital, changing the subject whenever it seemed like things were heading towards talk of Nikolai. And while she knew that wasn't exactly the healthiest approach to dealing with things, she knew that she would only make things worse by pushing him to talk before he was ready.

"You don't have to say, Howard," she said kindly as she saw him struggle with himself.

"They don't know what's wrong," Howard half-blurted. "In terms of the fall, there's nothing wrong with him, but he's not waking up and they don't know why. And he just looks so . . . seeing him like that . . ."

"But they can't not know," Payson protested, a frown marring her features. "They have to have some idea, even if it's just a hint."

"There's something wrong with his bloods," Howard explained, drawing conclusions from what they'd reluctantly been told, "which means one of his organs are playing up, but the doctor's not saying anything. Which to me means that it's serious and that they're hoping that they're wrong."

Payson took a sharp breath at his explanation. Definitely far worse than she thought this time.

"It'll be alright," she said as firmly as she could manage. "If anyone could get through this, Howard, it's Nikolai," she added, laying a hand on Howard's shoulder. "He's got a lot to live for."

Howard sent her tight smile but nodded, acknowledging the comfort that she offered. Payson headed back to the hardly used stove, flipping Howard's eggs onto a plate already laden with bacon, sausages, blackpudding, fried tomatoes, and hashbrowns. It was more than enough to overcome the lack of appetite that he and Sasha had claimed the night before. She cracked two more eggs and had them ready just in time for Sasha's appearance, drawn to the kitchen just as Howard had been, by the scent of fried foods wafting up his stairs.

"I really shouldn't be eating this," Sasha noted, his mouth watering as he surveyed the plate of food.

"Promise not to tell," she said sweetly, placing the plate in front of him and taking the remaining seat beside him. Her own breakfast was distinctly not fried, consisting of unsweetened yoghurt and fresh fruit.

Conceding to her demands, he kissed her lips and then dug into the plate of food. He only managed to finish about half of the plate, which she put down to being unaccustomed to this sort of breakfast and so not out of the ordinary. She had no way of explaining his offer to do the washing up after breakfast, but she certainly wouldn't complain.

"Do you remember where everything goes?" she teased, referring to the cooking utensils (particularly those which had still been in their packaging when she found them). He pouted, filling her with happy affection. She kissed him deeply, only pulling away when a knock sounded once again at Sasha's front door.

"That was quick," she laughed, expecting Howard back from the office even though it had only been about ten minutes. And so she didn't think twice about opening the door or asking who was calling.

It wasn't Howard.

Instead it was a man that she couldn't help but recognize. A man who had coached some of the most successful gymnastics programmes in the world, with such success in the sport that his name was nearly synonymous with gold.

A man with blue eyes nearly identical to those of the man she loved.

Dmitri Belov.

* * *

_National Gymnastics Organization Head Office – Tuscan, Arizona_

"I think you'll be very happy with your choice, Mr Jennings," Marcus McGowan assured as he shook hands with Andrew Jennings, Marketing Director of Kellogg's Cereals. His position and disposition hardly matched up to the image he presented of himself - small and quaint in a deceptively frail looking package. "We're almost certain that we'll be bringing home the gold this year."

Andrew Jennings just nodded, having received similar assurances from the Men's Swim Team, the rowers, and the cyclists. All of whom had been turned down in favour of Women's Gymnastics. He wasn't concerned about gold medals – although that was certainly a bonus. He was concerned about their image and about whether Marcus McGowan could assure him that there would be no repeat of the scandal post-Beijing.

"I had my daughter 'google' this Sasha Belov character," Jennings said, with a slightly haughty note to his voice.

Marcus grimaced slightly, waiting for Jennings to make his point. Sasha Belov was not part of the contract, but his influence was far reaching. And with a company like Kellogg's on board – with their family orientated image and their strict morals – that influence would not necessarily be a good thing.

"He's a quite bit older than her," Jennings said judgmentally, Shiela's poisonous barbs clearly on his mind. "And all this 'rebel' stuff . . ."

"Is in the past," Marcus assured, although he had absolutely no say in Sasha Belov's behaviour. This was not one of his gymnasts who he could clandestinely direct to the right course of action, which was well within his role as National Co-Ordinator. Sasha Belov was a variable beyond his control.

All the same, Marcus felt safe in giving that assurance. As someone who had dedicated their life to PR, he was aware that Sasha Belov had long outgrown his 'rebel' and 'bad boy' persona. The behaviour that Jennings had chosen to concern himself with was in the past because Sasha was no longer an impulsive teenaged boy with a chip on his shoulder – he had grown up as most boys did around that age. It had been years since the sort of incidents that were seen going in to Athens.

"It's recent enough," Jennings snorted, hardly convinced.

"Miss Keeler has been a very good influence upon him," Marcus said, his tone placating and maybe even doing its part to cool Jennings' judgment. The words were a lie of course, at least from Marcus' understanding. Payson had changed people's perception of Sasha, rather than enacting any major changes in the man himself.

Still, Jennings gave another derisive snort. "My daughter said the same." Everyone did. "But she also called him 'dreamy' so I can hardly trust her judgment.

"I'm not concerned about her influence," Jennings continued with a scowl. "I'm concerned about his."

"You've nothing to be concerned about there," Marcus replied, giving a little fake laugh to lighten things up. "She's a determined and headstrong girl unlikely to let anything stop her from reaching her goal. In all the years she's been doing gymnastics, the blackest mark against her name is attempting to petition onto the National Team against her coach's wishes.

"Mr Jennings," he said seriously, lowering his voice slightly, "I assure you that Payson Keeler is an excellent match for your company and that her involvement with Sasha Belov will only add to her appeal."

Jennings looked incredulous and so Marcus elaborated on his point. "Does your daughter follow gymnastics, Mr Jennings?" he asked, receiving a negative response. "But she had heard of Payson Keeler before you asked her to search for them?"

"Yes," Jennings said, sounding snipey and exasperated. "Your point, Marcus?" he said derisively.

"My point is that your daughter, who has no interest in gymnastics, knows who the current World Artistic Gymnastics Champions are," Marcus explained, unable to stop the superior little smirk spreading across his face. "That the interest in gymnastics has trebled over the last nine months. And that the names Payson Keeler and Sasha Belov are one of the top search trends on google right now – which you happily contributed to."

Andrew Jennings' expression changed as Marcus' meaning slowly sunk in, turning thoughtful as he considered his prospects. Putting Payson Keeler on his cereal boxes appealed to a much wider audience than he had anticipated.

"We'll need some publicity before trials," he said aloud, a small smile pulling on his lips.

"The new National Team members will be happy to oblige," Marcus replied.

"Especially the National Champion," Jennings said, his tune changed from the earlier stages of their meeting. "I want her front and centre for pictures."

The place of primacy.

"Of course, Mr Jennings," Marcus agreed.

* * *

_Sasha's Apartment – Canary Wharf, London_

She'd been silent for far longer than was polite, her mouth hanging open in awe and her hand falling limp at her side. Dmitri Belov just shook his head and stepped passed, not standing on ceremony for her to invite him in.

And now he was walking through the lounge room, and Sasha was turning towards the sound of footsteps and wearing an expression that Payson imagined was very similar to her own. Eyes wide. Mouth open. Crockery falling to the floor with a loud thump.

"D-dad?" he stuttered out in amazement, the word somehow unfamiliar after years of estrangement. He wondered when he'd last seen his father – how long had it been since he'd called Dmitri Belov 'dad' to his face? Eight years almost. Not since his mother's funeral.

"What are you doing here?"

Dmitri looked confused, like he didn't understand the question, and for one idiotic moment Sasha thought he might have to repeat himself in Romanian. As though he needed to accommodate a man fluent in five different languages. "You called," Dmitri said simply.

Sasha gaped. It was so like his father to think it that simple. To enter his home like he had every right to be there.

"You didn't even bother picking up," he replied hotly, something accusing about his tone of voice. He'd been stupid and impulsive when he called his dad – sentimental if he was feeling kind. Faced with the fragility of human existence, the rash part of him wanted to fix things with his dad and the stupid part had thought that Dmitri might be amenable to that.

"No, forget it," Sasha said before his father could pass off some arrogant excuse for why he was screening his calls. "You can just – "

"Sasha." It was Payson's voice that cut him off, suddenly right beside him and her fingers threaded through his. He calmed almost instantly, her presence having an immediate affect on his more aggressive instincts. Here beside him was the one place he could feel safe and happy, even in the face of his most persistent demons. "Talk to him," she said softly, keeping her voice low so that Dmitri wouldn't overhear. "He's here. That . . . that means something. He's trying."

He knew she was wrong. She didn't know Dmitri like he did. Oh, but he loved her. And with that sweet, hopeful look in her eyes he couldn't deny her anything. Not even this.

He nodded his head and her smile brightened. And his heart clenched because he knew she would be disappointed in one of them.

She kissed him gently, both reassuring and reaffirming. "I have to go grab a few things for Nikolai," she told him, her voice louder now. She collected her purse and put on a pair of sandals he had thought more for show than practical use – her way of telling him that she wouldn't be far away if he needed her. Couldn't be in a pair of shoes that once had him promising to carry her if they had to go further than the shoes allowed. "Text me when it's safe," she teased and he didn't have the heart to tell her how close she'd hit to the truth.

"Coach Belov," she acknowledged on her way out – hello and goodbye in that one little nod – and then she was gone and he was left alone with his father for the first time in who knew how many years.

His dad had the decency to wait until Payson was surely out of hearing range before he began his tirade. Perhaps he recognized the gentle beauty and idealism of his girlfriend that only the coldest heart could stand to disillusion.

The first words had nothing to do with Nikolai – had nothing to do with the fact that the man who was more a father than Dmitri ever was could have died yesterday and was currently in a coma. It was Dmitri Belov, so it was what it always was: judgment, disapproval, and anger. It never changed.

"How could you be so selfish?" he accused, an angry snarl to his lips. "It is always the same, Alecu. You never change – you are same selfish boy as you left."

"What this time?" Sasha replied scathingly, too old for his father's reproving. "How have I shamed you this time?"

"You have shamed yourself," Dmitri replied. "You have shamed her. And _pentru ce_? For your own selfishness, that is what for. For a body to warm your bed."

Sasha growled under his breath, crossing the distance between them. He was used to his father's accusations, but this was a step too far. "Don't you dare talk about her like that," Sasha said darkly, stepping closer to his father, hands fisted at his side and body ready to strike if it came to that. "You can call me whatever you like, but don't ever imply that Payson is just a convenient body.

"I love Payson, and I won't have you talk about her as though she were some meaningless fling." He took a step back, took a breath to calm his temper. Thought of Payson and how she wanted things to be okay with his dad, because on some level that would make him happy.

Dmitri scoffed. "If you loved her you would not do this to her," he declared, slipping seamlessly into Romanian. "She should be training right now, and yet you drag her after you for your own comfort," he said, shying from the words he meant. He scoffed at the threat, but he knew better than to goad Sasha into a physical altercation. "You are a selfish boy," he said again. "You put yourself ahead of her dreams."

"I do not," Sasha replied in the same foreign tongue. But then maybe he had. He hadn't asked Payson to come with him to London – he wouldn't ask her to put off her training like that – but he hadn't tried to stop her. He hadn't told her stay home. It hadn't even occurred to him. He'd been so caught up in everything else that he hadn't even questioned it – had simply accepted that she was where she was supposed to be.

Dmitri shook his head and Sasha could practically feel his disapproval. He tried to tell himself that Dmitri was wrong about him, but there was that small voice in his head that said he deserved it this time.

"Maybe you're right," he said, swallowing thickly and ignoring the smug smile that crossed his father's features. There were excuses on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn't even attempt to explain himself to Dmitri. It wasn't worth it.

"So you train her," he said instead, his jaw set in challenge. "Best coach in the world, after all, I bet you're just dying coach her.

"Or does that offend your sense of loyalty," he taunted, slipping back to English.

Dmitri narrowed his eyes, lip curling again in a silent snarl. "You know nothing of loyalty," Dmitri accused. "And I will coach her not because of you," he said firmly. "I will train her because I will not let your selfishness ruin her, Alecu, like you let it ruin your mother."

Sasha's teeth clenched, pain pricking at old wounds. But no. He wouldn't let him get to him. Not today. Dmitri didn't matter today.

"You can stay here if you want, or you can go to a hotel," he said indifferently, busying himself with his jacket, wallet and keys – anything that meant he didn't have to look at the smug expression on his father's face. "I have to go to the hospital. I'll let Payson know what we agreed."

He left quickly, unable to stand it any longer. He had brought it upon himself. In his rash, stupidity he'd actually thought . . . but no. He'd never earn his father's approval, and fine. He was done trying.

The only thing he wanted from Dmitri Belov was for him to get Payson ready for Olympic Team Trials.

That was all.

~ to be continued ~

Because having Nikolai wasn't nearly enough, I just _had_ to bring in Dmitri Belov and make things worse. This is really not the relationship I intended Sasha to have with his dad, and I really don't know how it ended up being written the way it is. This one definitely got away from me.

Hopefully you're all starting to get a sense of Marcus' motives. They certainly aren't as terrible as Beals, but Marcus is his own breed of insidious particularly concerned with how the athletes might benefit the NGO and himself by association.

* * *

**Notes:**

**_Alecu:_ **A diminutive form of Alexandru. Like Sandu, but I couldn't stand to taint Sandu like that, so I went with an alternative. Especially as Dmitri uses the diminutive to indicate that Sasha is still a child in his eyes, rather than to indicate closeness.

* * *

**Translations:**

___**pentru ce?**:_ What for? or For what purpose?


	57. Emotional Upheaval

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Emotional Upheaval

Payson received several odd looks from the building's residents. It could have been her casual attire (making her look so very American), her age, or recognition. It was probably the fact that she was sitting there in the stairwell of their very nice apartment building, flipping mindlessly through last months _Inside Gymnastics_ and glancing up every few moments for any sign of her boyfriend.

It was a good vantage point. She could see the two sets of elevators, plus the main entrance from where she sat. Plus, there was the added benefit of sitting, giving the illusion of casual relaxation where standing would force her to anxiously pace the halls while she wondered what was going on upstairs.

She spotted Sasha as soon as he stepped into the elevator bay, tense and fidgety and everything about him telling her that things had not gone well with his dad. Magazine forgotten on the bottom step, she dashed to his side and wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry," she said immediately, her expression a mixture of guilt and sympathy.

"Don't, Payson," he replied. It was a harsher tone than he intended and he regretted it immediately. The anger wasn't meant for her and just a residual effect of talking with his dad – he could never be angry with her. "You don't need to apologise," he clarified in a softer tone, pecking her lips by way of his own apology. "You didn't know, _iubită_."

She pouted at him, her lips poised to disagree, but then he kissed her again and quickly changed the subject. "We should get some things for Nikolai. Like you said," he suggested, smiling weakly. "We can stop by Nikolai's on the way to the hospital."

There was something uneasy about his smile and she frowned at him in concern. She could tell that there was more to it than just an argument with his father. "What's wrong?" she asked softly, sliding one of her hands forward to stroke his cheek.

"Not here," he pleaded, shaking his head. She agreed, not blind to the spectators that they seemed to have attracted – there always seemed to be somebody watching them these days.

"C'mon," she said and then slid her hand down to twine with his, leading him to the lift. They'd take his car to Nikolai's, and then to the hospital, and they'd talk on the way, or whenever he was ready.

It should have come as no surprise that it took being in Nikolai's small, homey semi-attached duplex for him to finally get things off his chest. He gave her a look so sad it almost broke her heart and swallowed thickly on his words. "You shouldn't be here."

"That's okay. I can wait outside," she offered kindly, thinking he meant Nikolai's place.

Sasha shook his head. "Here, Payson. London. You should be at The Rock right now," he explained, his voice low and almost hoarse with emotion.

She looked at him curiously, tilting her head when he turned away from her inquisitive stare. "Is that what you want?" she asked him, keeping her tone neutral rather than accusative. She took a cautious step towards him, careful not to put him on the defensive. "Sasha?"

He shook his head again, his features awash with guilt. "I didn't ask you to be here," he protested, trying to absolve himself of the burden. She was here by her own volition – didn't that mean something?

Payson frowned, decoding his words. He felt guilty for wanting her here – for wanting her to stay even though she should be somewhere else – and she wouldn't let him feel that way. "I'd be here even if you told me not to," she said, seeing a small amused smile pull on his lips as she remind him of how stubborn she could be when she wanted to be.

"I'm not leaving you alone in all this," she told him seriously. "Not until I know that Nikolai's going to be alright and that you're going to be okay when I go."

She smiled coyly, a slight sway to her hips as she crossed the distance between them. "I love you, Sasha," she reminded him, pressing a feather light kiss to his jaw. Her hands were anchored on his shoulders and she could feel him relax under her touch, letting go of some of that guilt.

Shifting her weight to her toes, she pressed another kiss to his jaw and then another, working her way up his chiselled jawline towards his ear. "If my being here could stop you from feeling even slightest of pain, then there is nothing in the world that could make me leave," she whispered.

The awe she read in his expression when she pulled away was unexpected. He studied her for a moment or two, seeming to memorize her loving expression.

"Thank you," he finally said, awe shifting to gratitude as he drew her closer. He was unable to think of words beyond that in the face of such devotion – none seemed to come even close to conveying how deeply he felt for her. It seemed his words would always be insufficient – he had always been bad with words when it mattered – and he'd simply have to spend the rest of his life showing her how completely he adored her and proving himself worthy of the love she gave him return.

Starting with a kiss.

* * *

_National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery_

"There you are," Howard said, catching them on their way to the reception area having come quite obviously from the nurse's station. He narrowed his eyes a little at his best friend who looked, if not completely happy, obviously content and more at ease than he had the previous day. Which was all very surprising given what he found when he went back to Sasha's to take him and Payson to the hospital.

"You know you could've warned me about _Belov Seniori,_" he pointed out, just a touch of annoyance in his voice.

"_Belov Seniori?_" Payson repeated, an eyebrow raised at his choice of address.

"It's a sign of respect," Howard said, although he hardly meant it as such.

"Sure it is."

"So you're not going to say what your dad's doing here?" Howard asked, noting that Sasha had yet to take part in the conversation.

Sasha sighed. "I called him before we left St. Louis," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Now he's here to train Payson."

"What?" Payson gaped, her surprise directed at the latter comment, while Howard frowned at the first.

"Sasha that's completely unnecessary," she protested quickly. "I don't need your dad to train me. Marty emailed me details of what he wants me to work on, so all I need is someone to watch me while I'm working and make sure I don't hurt myself."

Sasha smiled gently, reading what she wasn't saying in her open expression. "Pay, you don't turn down the best coach in the world when he's offering to coach you," he said with an affectionate chuckle, tucking his fingers under her chin. "Especially not because he doesn't get along with your boyfriend." She scowled a little, looking put out by his ability to see right through her flimsy excuse.

He coaxed her to lift her chin and kissed her very softly on the lips. "Do it for me, Pay," he pleaded, his eyes wide and throwing in a little tremble of his bottom lips. He could see her waver, that firm determined line of her mouth softening with every word. There was a part of her that wanted to take this opportunity – best coach in the world, after all – but there was a much larger part of her that was more concerned about him than about what working with Dmitri Belov would do for her gymnastics.

He smiled weakly and went in for the kill.

"You know I'd feel so much better at keeping you here if I thought you were getting something out of it," he told her.

She really tried her best to keep scowling at him, but her efforts were fruitless as her eyes softened against Sasha's puppy dog look and she smiled gently in return. "I'm getting plenty from being her," she said eventually. She could recite him a list if pushed.

He eyed her dubiously and she relented. "I'll go see him this afternoon," she promised.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, dropping another kiss to her lips.

"So you actually called Dmitri?" Howard asked, still amazed by that fact.

"It was a weak moment," Sasha shrugged. "He's here now so I figured he could make himself useful.

"Did he say anything to you before he left?" he checked with Howard.

"Only that he was going to check out Nikolai's facilities and that for some reason he was taking Rassilon with him," Howard replied.

"Guess that means he's staying with us," Sasha surmised, resolved to his fate. He hadn't shared a living space with his dad since his parents separated and he moved to London with his mother. It was honestly the last thing he wanted right now – having to deal with his father on top of everything else – but he'd brought it upon himself. Every time he considered committing patricide he'd have to remind himself that his dad was here for Payson and that for all his foibles as a parent, he was still the best gymnastics coach in the world.

"The nurses are being pedantic about visiting hours," Howard complained as they moved together to the reception. "We still have another twenty minutes before they'll let us in to see him."

"Don't tell me that one of a kind Bryson charm actually failed you?" Sasha asked drolly with amusement. He nodded a hello towards Sergei, who was already waiting in the reception and stood on their arrival.

"Is what I tell you," Sergei said, his muddled version of 'I told you so' clearly referring to Howard's failed attempt to sweet talk the nurses.

"Yeah, yeah," Howard waved off. "Like you could have done any better," he challenged the both of them.

"Nurses said no," Sergei shrugged. "I would not have tried."

"Irrelevant," Howard replied.

Payson interjected, rolling her eyes at the exchange. "Sasha and I grabbed some things for your dad on our way here," she said to Sergei, explaining their tardiness. She gestured to the bag Sasha had in hand as Sergei gave a small frown.

"Pay thought it might make things more comfortable for Nikolai when he wakes up," Sasha added complementarily as he offered the bag towards his coach's son.

Sergei stared at it for a moment and then shook his head. "You may bring it to him," he said, directing his response towards Payson. Clearly Howard had had a word with him while they were waiting to be seen, or perhaps Sergei had realized on his own that she genuinely cared for Nikolai and wasn't just some tag-along girlfriend. Either way, Payson smiled politely, accepting the small concession and the apology it implied.

The time waiting for visiting hours to begin seemed to drag on for hours. The room had filled slowly as it got closer to ten-thirty, and eventually Payson had given her seat up to an elderly woman so as to perch herself on Sasha's knee. The woman had then struck up conversation about her husband who was in the hospital recovering from a major stroke. Payson supposed she just had one of those faces.

Doctor Walters arrived in the waiting room just before visiting hours began, oddly surprised to see them all there. "Oh good. You're early," he said, oblivious to the fact that they'd been waiting around for the last fifteen minutes. Longer still for Sergei and Howard.

Payson slid off Sasha's knee, willing to stay behind in the waiting room, but as he stood Sasha held steadfastly to her hand. If Doctor Walters had any questions about her presence, he said nothing aloud when she followed along with the boys to his office, the space filled by three tall men and one tiny gymnast.

The doctor opened a file on his desk filled with words and data that none of them understood. "Nikolai's bloods came in," he explained, "and we were able to confirm diagnosis.

"This is a clear case of hepatotoxicity," Doctor Walters said. He sounded oddly pleased by this outcome, as though it were something he'd been hoping on all along. "We suspected it may be liver damage, due to Nikolai's pallor and high enzyme levels in the initial blood tests. The biochemical markers in the later tests confirmed abnormal liver function and early stage inflammation of the liver."

They were all quiet for a few moments, the four of them wading through the medical jargon trying to understand exactly what was wrong with their loved one. It was hepatitis, and maybe even something more than that – abnormal liver function could mean a multitude of things.

"Is there anything you can do?" Howard asked, realizing that any possibility of liver damage was far more serious than what the doctor's tone suggested.

"He seems to be recovering on his own," Doctor Walters said kindly. "Once we removed him from the drug trial, the enzyme levels dropped significantly and we're quite certain that there will be no long term effects once the drug is out of his system."

"The drug trial?" Sasha seized on the word, narrowed gaze flicking between Sergei and Doctor Walters. Payson felt him tense dangerously beside her, and she stepped closer to try and calm him in some way

"We knew this was a risk," Doctor Walters nodded, not seeming to understand the death glare being sent his way. "One in only five hundred subjects have had a similar reaction to the drug, and while it has effectively slowed the progress of the disease, in some cases the benefits simply aren't worth it. We will restart Nikolai on his previous medication once he's fully recovered."

The room was completely silent when he finished, and he shifted awkwardly in the sudden tenseness. "I'll go check with the nurses to see if they're ready for you to see him," Doctor Walters said quickly, high tailing out of the room before things exploded.

"I told you it was too dangerous," Sasha said darkly, practically hissing the words at the Russian man before him.

Sergei stood quickly to join him on his feet, not at all intimidated by the dark glare in Sasha's eyes. "Do you not hear him, Belov?" Sergei asked with surprising cool. "It is effective."

"And it almost killed him," Sasha replied, accusations rife in his speech. He had never wanted for Nikolai to go on the experimental drug, and if things weren't so terrible, he might actually feel vindicated by the result. Payson called his name softly, reining him in before things got taken too far.

"You do not get to judge, Belov," Sergei said, anger raising in his voice now. "It is my choice. Mine and my brother's. We did what we thought was best for _our_ father.

"Who are you to judge?" he asked again.

The scoff in reply was surprisingly not from Sasha. "Where were you when he got sick?" Howard asked, accusation rife in his tone. "You and Fyodor are only here when it suits you. Sasha and I are the ones who have been with him every day for the last ten years. Not you."

Sergei glared at him. "You are not family," he said firmly. "I let you be here only for _nana_ and this is how you are?"

"Not blood," Howard corrected. "Sasha and I are not _blood_."

"You are not blood," Sergei agreed, his tone less aggressive. "My father choose this for himself."

"Because it was what you and Fyodor wanted," Sasha scoffed.

"Yes," Sergei said, shooting back a glare in Sasha's direction. "Should I be shamed for wanting my father to get better? I will not be shamed for having hope." He stormed out before either Howard or Nikolai could reply, leaving them there with their impotent anger turning inward.

They knew without even looking at Payson that they were going to have to apologise to Sergei. But they looked all the same, seeing her there with a raised eyebrow sending them the same look they remembered getting from their mothers after they'd been caught doing something they really shouldn't.

"I know," Sasha sighed. "But not just yet, _dragă,_" he pleaded, not yet in the state of mind to be facing Sergei with their tail caught between their legs.

"Okay," she agreed. "We'll go see Nikolai and then we'll _both_ go to the gym," she told him. "Hopefully working out will make you feel better about seeing Sergei again."

"Thank you, _dragă_," he said, pressing his lips to hers gratefully.

"Howard?" Payson said, asking if he was going to join them. Howard shook his head, but smiled his thanks at the offer.

"I have my own way of working off my anger," he replied. Payson nodded and gently guided herself and Sasha to the door.

There was a foreboding little thought in her head warning her that bringing Sasha directly to Dmitri Belov might not be the best thing right now, but she waved it off. Right now, it seemed like the safest outlet for Sasha's anger was at the gym. And that might just mean Dmitri more than gymnastics.

~ to be continued ~

.

* * *

**Notes:**

**_Idiosyncratic liver damage_**: There seems to be an association between MSA and Parkinsons treatment and liver damage - at least two were later taken from the market because they caused severe liver damage. I went with the relatively minor, liver inflammation rather than more serious liver diseases, and I had to make it up a little seeing as the current drug trials didn't seem to specify what sort of liver damage might occur. I'm pretty sure that 1 to 500 is disproportionately high, but for some people that risk is worth it.  
The liver is a pretty robust organ (has to be given how important it is) and Nikolai is totally going to survive this. I just obviously hate Nikolai and want to make things as difficult for him as possible.

* * *

**Translations:**

___Romanian  
**iubita:**_my love  
_**Belov Seniori:**_ Belov Snr.

_Russian__ (phonetic)__  
**nana:**_ father/dad


	58. While You Were Sleeping

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - While You Were Sleeping

_Nikolai's Gym  
13 June 2012_

"Again," Coach Belov's loud voice bellowed, making her cringe now after three days of training. The first day had been relative painless, although that was probably to do with Sasha being around to take the bulk of Dmitri's criticism. Yesterday he had still been getting a feel for her routines and where she was – testing the waters in a way until he was comfortable. Today he was relentless, making her repeat endless skills until he was satisfied with their execution.

She climbed back up to the high bar, clinging to the pole with hands and feet until she pushed herself off into a forward swing. She swung around once to get the momentum she needed and then dropped into the second swing, waiting until the arc brought her past 270 degrees before releasing the high bar, twisting mid-air as she transitioned between the two bars and catching the low bar on her way around.

As her body swung around the low bar, she held her breath, waiting for Coach Belov's loud command to cut through and halt the routine. When he remained silent, she continued her routine, performing a piked circle on the low bar and then making the contra-salto transition back to the high bar.

"You should be performing a more difficult transition here," Coach Belov said, cutting her off as she lifted into a handstand.

Payson sighed inwardly and dropped herself to the floor so she could talk properly. She wasn't usually one to resent an upgrade, but with only two weeks from trials, now wasn't the time to be thinking about upgrades. Especially when her uneven bars routine least needed it.

Respectfully, she attempted to explain to her temporary coach why upgrading her high to low transition was not a good idea. "My routine already contains nine elements at D or above, Coach Belov," she highlighted politely. "It would only raise my difficulty through a connection and I would have to move other elements to accommodate it. I'm not sure I could justify disrupting my routine that much for at most two tenths of a point in difficulty."

He nodded sagely at her reply, and she realized that this had been some kind of test. One she had apparently passed even though she had no idea what he was testing her for.

Aside from being more demanding, Coach Belov also seemed to be more talkative today. He'd engaged her more than once in conversation about her routines and skills, just as he was now. Perhaps it was a result of lack of conversation at home, what with Sasha and Dmitri barely talking if the other was present. She'd more or less begged Howard to stay for dinner last night just so she wouldn't have to spend another evening conversing across the dinner table with two brick walls.

"I will see your beam now," Coach Belov directed, apparently satisfied with her bars.

She smiled secretly to herself, prepared to do something that Dmitri was yet to see in its entirety. Marty called it her gold medal winning beam routine and even Lauren didn't know the overall A score. Aside from Marty, no one other than Sasha knew that she'd been practicing after hours in order to upgrade her second acro series – upgrading from a backwards salto for an extra two tenths. Gengi Cho wasn't the only one who thought they had her all figured out on beam.

Dmitri watched patiently as she went through the routine, cataloguing her eight most difficult skills. Aerial walkover. Cross leap. Onodi. Piked salto.

She could practically hear him double take as instead of a round-off entry, she used a front handspring to rebound into a gracefully executed forward piked salto and then an aerial cartwheel. It took everything in her power not to watch his expression as she moved through a short dance stage before a full illusion. Then a switch leap to ring leap. Then finally her Arabian double front dismount.

Coach Belov nodded as she landed. "You have upgraded since Nationals," he said with a small 'hmm' that she took to be amusement. "That is a 6.8."

"Yes," she confirmed, unable to stop herself from sounding a little smug.

"Very good," he nodded, giving her a rare compliment. "Who designed this routine?" he asked her curiously. The artistry was so unlike what he was used to seeing from American gymnastics. Instead of being stacked with acrobatic skills, it was a beautiful mixture dance, flexibility, and power

She smiled even wider, tilting her head up with pride. "Your son actually," she said brazenly, watching as Dmitri's eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline.

"My son?" Dmitri repeated with incredulity.

"Marty tweaked it a little, but for the most part it's the same as Sasha designed it," she replied, sounding casual in the face of Dmitri's disbelief. "He's going to be an amazing coach someday," she added softly.

When Dmitri didn't immediately scoff and disregard her words, she decided to probe a little further. Perhaps he wasn't the only one feeling more comfortable today.

"Gwen wouldn't want you two to be fighting like this," she said in her gentlest tone. "Especially not because of her."

This time Dmitri did scoff, snapping his head around to glare at her. "How would you know?" he asked bitingly. "You did not know her."

"No," she agreed, knowing she was treading on thin ice for even broaching the subject. "But Sasha talks about her all the time. And I know that it upset her when you and Viola would fight, so I can only imagine how she'd feel if she knew you and Sasha couldn't even manage a civil conversation." The words were admittedly harsher than she intended, but if Dmitri was going to be as hard-headed about this as Sasha (the apple obviously did not fall far from the tree in that respect) then she was going to have to be brutally honest with him.

She could have said more – a lot more – but kept most of it to herself. It wasn't her place to criticize, but she couldn't just leave them the way they were. And for now she just wanted to put the idea into Dmitri's head and see if he would come around on his own.

"Shall I go through it again?" she asked, deliberately dropping the subject. Dmitri nodded, dragging the springboard back into position for her mount.

"It is beautiful _rutină_," he commented as she got into position. It reminded him of the old days when ballet training was practically a mandatory part of gymnastics training.

She nodded and then with perfectly measured force, bounced off the springboard from both feet, propelling forward with legs in a near 180 degree split and then landing on the beam in cross stand position. The delicate wave of her hands that followed seemed almost self-congratulatory following such a beautiful display. Each move was measured and elegant, instilled with a grace and beauty that she hadn't thought herself even capable of a year ago.

She wondered if Dmitri could see it. This routine wasn't just designed by Sasha. It was something that she was only capable of because he had made her brave and beautiful.

"Wait," he said, stopping her just after the Onodi before the hop that Viola was constantly telling her had no right to be calling itself '_fouetté_'. "You need to hold here before the walkover."

Payson gave a small nod to show she'd heard the comment and walked back to the opposite end of the beam, starting with the round off entry and then the flic-flac to handstand, holding the split for a moment longer as Coach Belov suggested, before walking out of the handstand. She paused before continuing, looking to him to check that she'd done it as suggested.

"_Din nou. _Again," he said, as was his way. Five more times for consistency, and then following through to the _fouetté_ hop to arabesque, toes pointed and arms spread either side to hold her balance. She continued, stopping when asked to perfect some miniscule element in her performance that the judges would likely seize upon to deduct. If she gave them the opportunity to pick at her execution, they surely would.

Much of what he suggested were only small changes – an extra second on a hold, a reminder to point her toes in her leaps and hops, and a check on her hand position in the handspring. She'd been telling the truth when she told Sasha that she was only fine-tuning her routines, but an extra pair of eyes never went amiss in this situation. Coach Belov had picked up on a few points that she and Marty had missed in their focus upon the larger elements.

Once she had gone through beam to his satisfaction, he moved her along to the next apparatus he was intent upon critiquing, calling out "Vault" as she saluted her imaginary judges.

"You did not consider the Purdonova?" he asked as she landed her forwards vault with its 6.5 start value, six tenths lower than the ever-enticing Purdonova.

Another test she supposed as Coach Belov surely knew that a vault like the Purdonova expressly favoured smaller gymnasts. She had briefly considered upgrading this vault to a Purdonova – even she couldn't resist a big, shiny 7.1 start value – but had been quickly dissuaded of that after watching playback on her best attempt. She was too tall for that vault, and at the end of the day a well-executed 6.5 was worth more than a sloppy 7.1. Especially if Genji Cho was brining the same combination to the Olympics – against a smaller, more powerful gymnast attempting the same vault she didn't have a hope.

She said more or less the same to Coach Belov, and in return he gave her a thorough critique upon her round-off flic-flac half on layout with one and a half twists. Of all the upgrades in her routines since Worlds, it was the one she'd spent the least amount of time on and still had a few kinks to work out. She was so comfortable doing the full layout that her body had to be reminded sometimes to go for that extra twist. Unsurprisingly, Dmitri had picked up on that.

"Is not the same as the full twist. You need more height off the vault table," he told her. "Otherwise you are rushing and losing your place in landing.

"We will work here for rest of day," he insisted.

Payson returned to the top of the runway, in complete agreement as to where her focus needed to be. Marty had said the same in his directions, telling her to focus on her weaker vault even if it would have little bearing upon the NGO's decisions in team selection.

With a quick, centering breath, she set down the runway once again, using the springboard to acquire more force off the vault table – transferring the energy from the spring into her repel – and thus more height as the went into the second phase of the vault. It was less controlled the first few times as she worked out the exact measure of force required, but eventually Dmitri's nitpicking gave way to one word commands. "Again", she had learnt, meant that he was pleased with the result and wanted her to repeat the skill in order to prove that it wasn't just a fluke and that she could do the same every time.

She was on a four vault run when a familiar cheery, unconventional love song cut into the mostly quiet gym atmosphere. Dmitri scowled without even knowing the identity of the caller – she imagined he'd scowl all the more if he knew that was Sasha's personal ringtone. She apologised for the interruption before finding her cellphone and answering the call.

"Hey," she answered softly, pretending she didn't see the look of reproach in Dmitri's ever-stern features. "What's happened?"

_"It's good news,"_ Sasha promised her, a smile in the words.

_"Come to the hospital, pisicuţă,"_ he told her playfully._ "Nikolai wants to see you_."

* * *

_National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery  
Earlier_

Sasha flicked slowly to the next page, reading aloud to the hospital room. It was one of Nikolai's favourites, although Sasha had never really understood the appeal himself. Too philosophical for his tastes.

"I'm sure he really appreciates it," the young nurse said indulgently as she tucked the blankets around Nikolai's sides.

He just nodded, glancing up from his pages for a brief moment and then turning back to the book. He was sceptical of the efficacy of what he was doing and whether Nikolai actually appreciated hearing about blistering cold Russian winters, but it seemed to have an almost cathartic effect upon his own emotions. Though it might have no effect upon Nikolai's recovery, it gave him something to do and let him think that he was helping in this ever-small way.

Nikolai had been in the hospital for four days now and unconscious for much of that time. He'd woken several times, but only briefly, in a state of agitation and confusion, which left them somewhat more worried than the stretches of unconsciousness. After the third time the doctors had felt safe enough about Nikolai's recovery to remove some of the tubes that he'd been attached to since his fall. Otherwise things had followed an unbroken pattern, the three young men biding their time in a hospital room waiting for Nikolai to wake more permanently.

The nurse leaned against the side of the bed, taking his brief acknowledgement as enough to engage him in conversation. "He's lucky to have such devoted sons," she said warmly, seemingly oblivious to how different they all were in appearance. One dark, curly haired and wiry, the other blonde and athletic, with a third shorter but with broad shoulders and thick hair. There was no obvious relation.

He didn't correct her, because frankly she wouldn't understand why two unrelated young men would be so devoted to their coach while Nikolai's other son hadn't even deigned it an emergency worthy of his presence. People outside of the athletic community didn't seem to understand the importance of the coach-athlete relationship and how in some circumstances it could be even closer than that of father-son.

The nurse gave each of them a sympathetic look in turn – to Howard by the window and Sergei on the other side of Nikolai's bed – but lingered upon Sasha, her intent clear to all of them. "The three of you have been in every day since he was hospitalized," she praised.

He managed a weak smile and she quietly excused herself when he made no further reply than that. She finally caught on to his lack of interest and let him get back to Yuri Zhivago's journey.

"I think we need a break," Howard declared after ten more minutes of Sasha's reading.

"_Da_," Sergei agreed, looking relieved by the suggestion. Apparently none of them were a fan of Nikolai's favourite book, perhaps because of the man's repeated attempts to expose them to this fine piece of literature. With little to no reluctance Sasha bookmarked his page and snapped the book shut.

"Christ, how many times did Nikolai try to get us to read this?" Sasha asked, glancing down at the book in his hand.

"About every other month," Howard replied nostalgically.

"You are lucky, then," Sergei put in, his ability to contribute to this conversation surprising him as much as them. "When we were young it was our bedtime story."

"Put you to sleep every time, I bet," Howard suggested. They all laughed in return and from there it evolved into a series of reminisces about the man in the hospital bed. Mostly of the times when they'd gotten up to mischief and how Nikolai had chosen to deal with them.

And it was in the midst of this, the room finally lifting of its sombreness and sense of tragedy, that a small groan entered the conversation.

Sergei was the first to register what it meant, jumping to his feet and lowering his voice. _"Papa? Papa_ do you need help?" he questioned, hovering over his father as though he were afraid to follow through with the action – as though touching might do more harm than good.

Nikolai groaned again, shaking his head and knocking away the hands that reached towards him. These came from both sides now that Howard and Sasha had come to their senses, and like Sergei they reached out to try and help their coach. "_Vse horosho_," he replied strongly, trying to push himself up the bed. "I only wake because of you noisy boys." He breathed heavily and then forced a loud cough out of his lungs. It seemed to bring him more to his senses. He took a moment to orientate himself to the room, eyes settling on each of them in turn before he spoke once again.

"You, _Voin_," he said, his gaze fixed upon Sasha. "You should be training.

"And you," he continued before Sasha could even try to defend himself. His eyes were honed upon Howard now, who seemed to stand straighter on instinct. "I am telling people I know important lawyer," he stopped to take another breath before finishing, "he is here playing his puzzles when there is work to be done."

"I'm taking a personal day," Howard told him, a little of his younger self's defiance slipping into his reply.

"I trained this morning," Sasha followed. He only protested weakly, too pleased by Nikolai's wakefulness to make a proper argument for himself. This wasn't like the other times that Nikolai woke up seeming dazed and disoriented, at least not so far. The man was coherent and sounding much like his old self. Perhaps this bout of consciousness would have a lasting effect.

"What about Sergei?" Howard argued, a grin pulling onto his features. "Aren't you going to nag him about coming to see you?"

"Of course not. He has nowhere better to be," Nikolai said simply, with a small huff. It was not said unkindly – none of it was. Nikolai loved his boys too much to ever truly resent their company, even the ones that were not his originally.

"Help me get up," Nikolai commanded, struggling to find leverage in the bed, his muscles weak from disuse. "I have been too long in bed."

The three young men surged forward collectively, one of them having the forethought to press the call button, although none of them could say who's initiative it was. The nurse from earlier returned quickly (probably thinking she might have another chance with the handsome blonde), and her eyes widened as she saw the three of them holding her coma patient down to the bed.

"I'll get Doctor Walters," she said, stepping in for less than a second before exiting the room once again.

"Nikolai, you just woke from a coma," Howard tried to explain reasonably. "You need to rest."

"_Posle smerti vyspyus__,"_ Nikolai argued. Those that understood Russian went deathly pale at the morbid reminder: _I'll sleep when I'm dead_. "I have had too much sleep," he reiterated sternly.

"Nikolai," Sasha pleaded, the baby of the three men having that same special power that the youngest always seemed to possess. "Just wait for the doctor."

Nikolai sighed loudly but stopped trying to make his escape. They all knew he didn't like hospitals – they were a weary reminder of how sick he was – but there was no avoiding it at this time. He fell back down to the pillows propped up behind him.

"I need water, _Seryozha_," he said, his voice scratchy. He sounded tired from all the exertion, but still more alert than he had been any of the other times he had regained consciousness.

"Here," offered Howard, who was closer to the water glass than Sergei. He poured a glass and handed it over to Sergei as the doctor arrived.

"Mr Gabordi," Doctor Walters greeted warmly, looking pleased to see his patient so lucid. "How are you feeling, Nikolai?"

The doctor waved the three young men away, taking up the place beside Nikolai's bed.

"I am feeling I have been here too long," Nikolai replied hoarsely, squinting at the flashlight shone in his face, pupils contracting and dilating as was normal. "When can I go?"

"Not yet," Doctor Walters replied. "We need to keep you here overnight, just to be safe. We have some tests we need to – "

"Yes, yes. More tests. And then I go home," Nikolai said impatiently.

Doctor Walters frowned. "You know how this works by now, Nikolai," he said. "It depends on the results. We're not sending you home until we're happy with how you're recovering from the inflammation to your liver."

He rubbed a stethoscope on his hand before placing the cool metal against his patient's chest. "A big breath in and then release it slowly," he entreated, earpieces firmly in place. Nikolai did as he was instructed, a slight rasp to his exhaling breath. The doctor helped him sit and then repeated the test.

"Nikolai, can I get you to lift your left hand?" Doctor Walters asked, observing his patient. Nikolai lifted his left hand slowly from the bed, earning himself a pleased response from the doctor. "And now wiggle your toes," he said, focusing on the end of the bed to watch for the movement. "Very good.

"I need to check some readings. I should be back in about an hour," the doctor said, stepping away from the bed. He seemed pleased with the preliminary tests and Nikolai's responsiveness to external stimuli.

Howard stopped him before he left completely. "Doctor . . . in an hour," he began cautiously, "will he . . . will he still . . ."

"He'll be fine," Doctor Walters answered, gently dropping a hand on Howard's shoulder. "He's going to need to get some sleep to regain his strength," he added, dropping his voice as he spoke to them, rather than directly to his patient. "Don't be too worried if he's out in the next few minutes. It should only be for an hour or two."

"Alright, Doctor," Howard replied with a sigh of relief, letting him go.

"See, I am fine," Nikolai said once Doctor Walters was gone. "Now all of you can go back to what you are supposed to do."

"So you won't even give us a moment to enjoy your company?" Howard asked, feigning a pout.

Nikolai huffed but gestured for him to come closer. He let them gather around him for a few moments, no one saying a word, until he suddenly lifted his hand and knocked Howard upside the head for being cheeky. "There is your moment.

"Where is Payson?" he asked, turning his head to get a better view of the room. "I was sure she was here," he said more quietly, shaking his head.

"She's at the gym," Sasha replied, his expression reluctant. For a moment he thought that Nikolai might react as his father had – by reproaching him for bringing her with him to London when she had training she needed to be doing in Boulder. But Nikolai just nodded.

"She will come by later?" he asked instead. His speech had slowed, becoming slurred as being awake for as long as he had took its toll. "Has been long time since I saw her."

"Of course," Sasha promised, watching closely as Nikolai's eyelids dropped and sleep began to creep up on him. "Just rest," he said quietly. "You'll see her when you wake up."

~ to be continued ~

Yay, Nikolai is awake! Which is good news of course. I tried to find a middle point between RL!coma (which is rather messy) and Hollywood!coma. It still came out much cleaner and 'miraculous recovery' than it should, but with just a hint of realism.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

___Romanian  
**pisicuta: **_kitten**_  
_**

_Russian__ (phonetic)__  
**Papa:**_ father/dad  
_**Voin:**_ Warrior  
_**Vse horosho:**_ I'm fine  
**_Seryozha:_** diminutive form of Sergei

Once again, thank you to Reader for fixing up my Russian.


	59. Delaying the Inevitable

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Delaying the Inevitable

_NGO Head Office – Tuscan, Arizona  
13 June 2012_

"Well?" Marcus asked, an eyebrow raised imploringly at his assistant as she dropped the phone back into the cradle.

"She's not available, sir," the young woman replied.

Marcus snorted his disapproval. "And what excuse is it this time?" he said rhetorically, his exasperation evident. "More training? Is she visiting an old friend? A family emergency?

"Payson Keeler should not be this hard to get a hold of," he expostulated. He didn't need this kind of stress right now. He had promised Jennings a publicity shoot next Monday, and at this point he didn't even know whether the current National Champion would be in attendance.

And to make matters worse, this was after he'd put his own reputation on the line in selling her to Andrew Jennings. After he had promised the man that Payson was a solid and reliable investment.

"Should I try Ms Martin again, Mr McGowan?" his assistant offered instead of explaining the reasons why Payson Keeler was unavailable. Likely there had been no reason – nothing but Kim Keeler's beautifully subtle brush off.

Marcus considered this question. His contacts at The Rock told him that Payson had been absent since Nationals, and while he had no way of confirming this, he had his suspicions as to where she was. He was surprised at the lack of coverage, but he knew without a doubt that Payson was in London with Sasha Belov, making a mockery of all his foolhardy promises.

He really had no choice in his next move. His position practically demanded it of him, even if his conscious wavered on the correctness of the action.

"Call Ms Martin," he said, his voice low. "Tell her that her client's current behaviour may be considered by some as a breach of the athletes code."

He frowned, hesitating before making the underlying insinuation all the more clear. It wasn't something he wanted to do, but he wouldn't let Payson compromise herself and her position for what would only be a passing love affair. If anyone else discovered her absence, the result would be inevitable.

"And if that doesn't work," he began slowly, not fully behind his own threat, "have her tell Payson Keeler that if she isn't back in Colorado by Sunday night, she'll be expelled from the National Team."

* * *

_National Hospital of Neurology and Neurosurgery – London_

It was with a strange sense of déjà vu that Payson made her way through puce coloured halls, hastily searching for the correct room number. She really ought to have known it by heart, but her anticipation at finally seeing Nikolai awake and healthy clouded her thinking and she had to make a brief stop at the nurse's station for directions before she headed down the halls with a greater sense of purpose.

Sasha was waiting for her outside of Nikolai's room, pacing the halls impatiently. Despite the dirty looks she knew she'd later receive from the nurses, she called out his name to get his attention and dashed the remaining distance between them so she could be taken up in his arms as quickly as possible.

A few celebratory kisses later they pulled away. "How is he?" she asked eagerly.

"He's good," Sasha responded, his expression filled with warmth and happiness. "He was up for nearly twenty minutes and spent almost the whole of that time telling me and Howard to get back to work."

Payson let out a small squeal of joy and embraced him once again, not even minding the slightest that she'd missed this. "He's gonna be alright," she realized, relief mixed with happiness. It was the best news they'd heard in days.

"He is," Sasha agreed, pecking her on the lips.

"Sasha, he's coming to," Howard announced, ducking his head out into the corridor. He smiled brightly when he spotted Payson, letting the rest of him slip through the doorway and opening his arms for a hug. "You're just in time, girlee," he said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

She couldn't say what she was expecting when Sasha and Howard led her into the room, but what she got was Nikolai sitting up in his bed, his warm brown eyes bright and alert. He looked older than she ever remembered him looking in all the time she'd known Nikolai, and yet at the same time he looked so very alive. "Payson," he greeted warmly. "Come, come. Sit, sweet girl," he directed, gesturing for her to take a seat next to him.

Payson obliged, sitting on the edge of the bed and snuggling against the teddy bear of a man. He kissed her forehead and held her as close as his frail body would allow him. It made her think of her grandfather – a man who passed away when she was still very young – and how he used to gather her up on his lap and tell her stories about a giant lumberjack.

"You have been looking after our boy?" Nikolai asked curiously, lowering his voice as he spoke.

"Of course," she promised.

"Good," he said, nodding thoughtfully to himself. "I know I do not have reason to worry so long as he has you."

"He always will," she said quietly, turning her gaze towards Sasha for a moment and sending him a small smile. Then she turned back to Nikolai and gave him a heartfelt glare. "You need to be more careful, Nikolai," she told him half-sternly, half-affectionately. "That way neither of us will have to worry about him."

Nikolai wheezed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You will always worry for him, I am thinking," he said insightfully.

"Then don't give me reason to," she rebutted playfully.

"I will try for you, sweet girl," he offered with a smile.

"Good," she said, tightening her embrace by just the slightest amount before letting go completely. She slid away, offering her place to Sergei so he could reassure himself of his father's wellbeing.

Sasha moved behind her, his hands resting lightly on her hips while she covered her mouth, trying her best not to fall into a mess of tears. "See," he said lowly, his lips brushing briefly against her temple.

She did. And the words she wanted to promise him right from the start fell surely from her lips. "Everything will be alright."

* * *

_Sasha's Apartment_

Dmitri Belov was, unsurprisingly, the first to address the elephant in the room. Over dinner as Sasha told him in as a few words as possible that Nikolai was now fully awake and would be released from hospital in a less than a week.

"So you will go back to America now?"

Payson frowned, her eyes meeting with Sasha's. She wished that she could say that the thought hadn't even occurred to her, but Dmitri's question had been niggling at the back of her mind even before Sasha's phonecall that afternoon It was hard for her to forget thanks to the messages she'd been getting from her Mom and MJ, all of them passed on from Marcus McGowan. Her reason for being in London was no longer effective, and logically that meant that she should be thinking about going home. She just . . . didn't want to.

It was a discussion that was probably long over due, but she certainly wasn't going to broach it here in front of Dmitri. She conveyed her best 'we'll talk about this later' look to Sasha and sought to distract Dmitri from his original question with talk of her potential competition in London, with talk of Genji Cho inevitably leading to a heated debate about age restrictions in Women's gymnastics. It put off their own heated debate until much later when Dmitri was asleep in one of the bedrooms downstairs and Payson and Sasha alone in their own.

"I know I can't stay here indefinitely but that doesn't mean I have to go home straight away," Payson said to open. She spoke with a shyness she'd thought she'd done away with long ago, her eyes trained on Sasha's pale blue bed sheets as she sat cross-legged in the centre of the bed, her fingers fidgeting for something to occupy them.

The bed dipped beside her, shifting to accommodate the weight of an additional person. "Right?" she asked shyly, afraid that he might disagree. There were a lot of awfully good reasons for her to go, and she didn't doubt that any of them were far from Sasha's mind. For her, though, they seemed strangely un-compelling.

"You know I want you to stay, Pay," Sasha replied gently, his arms sliding around her waist. "But I also want you to make the team for the Olympics. And I want you to win at least five medals when you get back here. Preferably gold ones."

She laughed and eased back against him, letting that ease some of her nervousness. It wasn't as though the things he wanted were all that different from the things she wanted for herself, only right now the Olympics seemed so far away and her priorities were shifting away from her usual leanings. It was so much easier to content herself with an emotionally intimate long distance relationship when he wasn't physically present.

"This is ridiculous," she said eventually, shaking her head. "We both want the same thing, but we both know it's not really a possibility.

"I wish I had a choice," she continued, turning her body so that she could face him. He smiled weakly, encouraging her to go on, and she did the same, her expression more pained than joyous. Why on earth did they have to do this now when things were only just getting good?

"When do you have to be back?" he asked, knowing her return had already been mandated. They were lucky to get as long as they did.

"Next week," she answered. "Mom and MJ tried to hold them off as long as they could, but if I'm not back Monday . . ." She trailed off emphatically, the consequences not even worth thinking of.

He frowned, his heavy expression turning apologetic and she stopped him before he could get the words out. "This is the NGO's fault for being a bunch of giant, manipulating douches," she said simply, her unfalteringly sober expression making him crack an amused smile. She shifted closer, sliding her hands up his arms and lacing her fingers behind his neck. "Nobody else's," she said seriously.

She smiled, mischief in her eyes as she added teasingly, "Especially not yours, snuggle-bunny," throwing in a little pout to complement the endearment. It changed to mood from sombre to playful, and she leaned over to flutter her lashes against his cheek. As always, he did little to hide his distaste at her choice of endearments.

"I thought I vetoed that one already," Sasha said, letting her distract them both as she intended.

"No, that one was snuggle-bear," she told him, her tone telling him that he ought to have known the difference. "Two very different things."

"Right," he said disbelievingly. "Well I'm vetoing it now."

"Love muffin?" she suggested. "How about 'sugar lips'?"

"How about you leave the nicknames up to me, _pisicuţă?_" he suggested, his voice taking on that low timbre that was often the only warning she got before he kissed her senseless. This time was no different and not a moment later she was tipped back into bed, his mouth against her own before she could even work out how he'd gotten them into that position.

"I love you," he murmured between kisses. She hmmed blissfully, a small little half-sigh rumbling from the back of her throat as he trailed away from her lips and worked a searing path down her neck. But then he pulled away suddenly, engendering a small mewl of protest form his prey, and pushed himself up on his forearms so he could see her more clearly.

"I don't think I've told you that nearly enough these past few days," he noted, his expression thoughtful.

She smiled gently, raising her hand to cup his cheek. "I don't need you to hear it as much as you think," she said, slightly teasing. She shifted back a little, using the pillows at the top of the bed to prop her up eye to eye. "_Inima mea iti apartine_," she said, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. _"Pe vecie."_

"Forever is an awfully long time," he warned her lightly. She gave a small shrug as if to disagree with his assessment. He turned serious and pressed the lightest of kisses to her cheek. "But I could definitely spend it with you."

Again she made that soft pleased sound in the back of her throat, more in response to his words than his impressively chaste action. "Could you spend forever with me?" he asked her, his voice so low it almost sounded like a secret. He cut her off before she could answer with a somewhat less chaste kiss to the spot behind her ear he knew made her legs go weak.

"Sasha," she whispered breathlessly, reluctantly pushing him away so she could speak without being so effectively distracted. As he pulled back, meeting her gaze with a smouldering mixture of adoration and longing, whatever it was she had wanted to say blanked from her mind and she simply dragged him back down, crushing her lips against his.

And then she knew exactly what she wanted to say, pulling away just long enough to breathe two words.

"Don't stop."

~ to be continued ~

Very late update, at least from my perspective seeing as it is already Tuesday for me. I had intended to do it early in the morning, but then I was late up so didn't have time to do it before I headed to uni. Then I intended to get it ready on the train and then post it once I got some wi-fi at uni. Which is why it is now lunch and I'm only just posting.

* * *

**Notes:**

To Reader: Please feel free to keep fixing mistakes in my translations (although there are thankfully none to fix in this chapter). Google is obviously unreliable in translating English to Russian, so your corrections are much appreicated.

* * *

**Translations:**

___****__Inima mea iti apartine. Pe vecie:_ My heart is yours. Forever.


	60. Airplanes

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - Airplanes

_Sasha's Apartment  
June 16 2012_

They really had tried to put it off for as long as possible, but by Saturday late afternoon they had pushed her departure back as far as possible. Well, there was that one flight late Sunday morning, but that seemed to be cutting things a bit too close to Marcus McGowan's Sunday night deadline.

"You got everything?" Sasha inquired, looking down at the two bags sitting at the end of the bed. He felt oddly that there had been less when she arrived, but couldn't really be certain on that point.

She nodded even though she was at this moment doing a scan of the room for anything she'd forgotten. "I'm taking your blue shirt," she informed him casually. "It's comfy," she added when he gave her a dubious look.

"Alright,_ dragă,_" he conceded, moving in close enough to wrap his arms around her. "Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, _scumpa mea_?" he asked teasingly.

"Hmm, now that you mention it I might take one your pillows," she joked, grinning back at him. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to sleep without you beside me," she added more sombrely. It was strange how quickly she'd become accustomed to sleeping next to Sasha. She'd spent nearly nineteen years perfectly content to sleep alone and never having a single trouble in getting to sleep, but she knew already that she would suffer through several sleepless nights once she got back to her own bed in Boulder, mostly just missing the weight of his arm across her stomach and his hand against her cheek.

She really didn't mean for her expression to turn all pouty the way it did, her lip jutted out and her eyes slightly downcast, but it seemed some things were beyond her control when such truly heinous thoughts of Sasha-less nights crept into her mind. _"Fromoasă fata mea,_" he half-mused, moving his hands up to cup her face. He kissed her gently, unable to stand seeing her look so put upon without taking it upon himself to kiss away her frown.

_"Te ador,_ Payson," he said sincerely as he ran a hand through her hair. She leaned into the caress, her eyes falling shut so as to savour the moment.

"I hate leaving you like this," she said, her gaze flashing back to his.

"You're not leaving me like anything, Pay," he said gently, doing his best to reassure her that he would survive without her. "I'll be alright and so will Nikolai. You don't have to worry."

She narrowed her eyes, looking totally unconvinced and sending him a look that told him she'd worry regardless. Conceding only slightly, she changed her tactic. "Fine. Then I hate leaving you period," she said, pouting deliberately this time.

"To that I can empathise," he said loftily. "I hate leaving you too," he agreed more seriously, leaning in to kiss away her pout as he had earlier. His hand on her cheek guided her towards him as she let her eyes fall shut and –

"Har hmmph."

Sasha pulled back suddenly at the loud throat clearing, recognizing the perpetrator immediately. His dad had never been particularly subtle.

Payson smiled pleasantly, her expression not giving away any annoyance she might feel at being interrupted in the middle of her goodbye. "Thank you so much for your help, Coach Belov," she said, dipping her head slightly in respect.

"Is fine," Dmitri waved off. "You will do well at your trials," he told her. "And you will do even better here at Olympics."

She beamed at the praise and Sasha couldn't help but do the same. Praise was something he'd heard so rarely from his father's lips, and for him to be so positive as to Payson's prospects meant her victory was an absolute certainty.

"Thank you," she said again, pecking a kiss to his cheek in gratitude. Dmitri allowed the action with stoic indifference and nodded impassively, as though he'd not said anything of significance that warranted such a gesture.

"The _palavragiu_ is here," he said to Sasha, lips pulled tight in a grimace.

"Howard?" Payson guessed, not expecting anyone else at the moment. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what 'palavragiu' translated to, although given Sasha's lack of retort it couldn't be too bad.

"One who talks too much," Sasha answered to her confused looks, actually smiling a little at the description. It would be insulting if it didn't fit Howard pretty much to the 't' – Sasha was actually more annoyed that he'd never thought to use it himself.

"Time to go then," she sighed, swaying into his side so he could put an arm over her shoulder. She flashed her sad little girl eyes up towards him, which had him immediately reaching for her bags without her needing to say a word. Not that she really minded carrying them herself, it was just fun to make Sasha do stuff sometimes.

"Ready to go?" Howard asked as they met him in the lounge. He had his keys in hand for a quick get away.

"Almost," Payson replied, glancing around the room for the one individual she still needed to say goodbye to. Rassilon appeared as though summoned, a dark smudge upon her nose of something she quite possibly shouldn't have been eating. Finding out what could wait for the time being.

"I'm going to miss you, Rassie," she said, crouching down to pet the collie one last time before she left. "Maybe we can sneak you into the village when I get back," she suggested as she tussled the dog's ears affectionately. Rassilon nuzzled her back, transferring whatever was on her nose to Payson's forearm. Luckily it appeared to strawberry jam, although where she'd gotten it from was anyone's guess.

"C'mon then," Howard said as Payson wiped the sticky jam from her arm. "No point putting it off any longer."

It was time to go, and with one last goodbye and thank you to Dmitri, they were out the door and heading down to the garage. Then heading to the airport in Howard's Mercedes coupé – a far more discrete vehicle than Sasha's James Bond-esque Aston Martin. They'd managed to keep themselves out of the media for nearly a week now, and it would be a wasted effort doing so only to be caught at the airport by the resident photographer from _The Sun._ It would simply be too easy to let their guards down in the end stretch, so Howard had taken it upon himself to make sure that the lack of coverage remained intact.

And so, just like the first, this goodbye took place in the back of a vehicle rather than out in the open where anyone could see.

"I love you," she whispered, tilting her face up towards him, her eyes glistening with sincerity.

He lifted her hand to his lips, just letting them brush against her knuckles. "I love you too, Payson_,"_ he replied, his voice as quiet as her own. He smiled weakly and drew her closer, practically sitting her in his lap as he brought her firmly to his lips. It felt painfully like a goodbye, which it was, even if it was only until they next saw one another. Saying goodbye – even if it was only until next month, next time – was something neither of them would ever get used to.

"I'll see you in thirty-six days," Sasha called after her as she left, watching as his very exact reminder brought a smile to her face. She lifted a hand and blew him a kiss. And then she was gone and two minutes later he was already missing her.

* * *

When he returned from the airport he expected to find Dmitri's things waiting by the door and his father ready to leave. Instead, the apartment was empty, which wasn't all that surprising – Dmitri never had been one for goodbyes and being gone by the time he got back was just a slightly unkinder version of Sasha's first guess. What did surprise him was that it was _completely _empty – no sign of his tri-coloured collie mongrel. This meant either: (a) Dmitri had – to add insult to injury – stolen his dog; or (b) that Dmitri had taken Rassilon out for a walk, which he had done most days around this time.

The cynic in him went for the former, where as the realist reminded him of the difficulties involved in taking a dog out of the country. It was the latter that seemed the more likely of the two, much to his confusion. Dmitri should have been gone already – Sasha had assumed he was only staying until Payson left out of politeness, as unlikely as that seemed in hindsight – so what was he doing taking Rassilon for a walk when he should be packing?

His mind immediately presumed some kind of ulterior motive, although he couldn't for the life of him think of what it was. Dmitri obviously had some reason for remaining in London, and Sasha quite doubted it had anything to do with him personally. Dmitri had been in London for a week without saying more than a handful of words to him – which was actually an improvement on the last time they'd been in contact – so he couldn't possibly be here for his companionship.

He had little time to think on it as his door was opened and Rassilon ran to his side, panting heavily. "Good, you're here," Dmitri said, his tone indecipherable to Sasha. "I was worried you would be longer and food would get cold."

Sasha frowned, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. "Where did you get a key?" he asked instead, his own questions taking precedence over any attempt to make small talk.

Dmitri shrugged. "I ask _portar_ for key so I would not be locked out if you were late," he said. "Is _stufat de miel_," he said, holding up the bag in his hands. "Is probably not as good as _bunica_'s, but I find _Românesc_ restaurant by park. I did not think you had eaten."

Still not understanding the gesture, Sasha gave up on trying to figure out his father's motives and just accepted it at face value. He hadn't really thought about what he'd do for dinner, so for now it was in his favour just to accept what was being offered rather than dwelling upon this out of character show of . . . warmth.

"Did you want something to drink?" he asked instead, glancing towards the kitchen.

"Water is fine," Dmitri replied, following behind him.

He grabbed a couple of glasses from over the sink, wondering if he might need something a bit stronger than water to get him through this evening. "You can just . . ." he began, flicking a glance back over his shoulder to find Dmitri setting up the table in the same manner it had been set while Payson was there, only with two place settings instead of three. He supposed that meant they'd be eating at the table when he was about to recommend they eat in the lounge and watch some TV – a hand distraction to make this all more bearable. He supposed that also meant his dad would want to be eating off dinner plates instead of out of take-away containers.

To add to his confusion, as they both seated themselves at the dining room table – Payson's gerberas only slightly wilted – Dmitri actually attempted conversation.

"There was council man at park," Dmitri began, picking gingerly at his stew. "He said I was not to take dog off her leash."

"Yeah, they're a bit funny about that," Sasha shrugged, awkwardly trying to find something to say in return.

"I tell him she is good dog," Dmitri returned, his voice laced with what Sasha would regard as affection in anyone else. Dmitri always had been more fond of dogs than he was of most people, and Rassilon was an especially likeable specimen. "She is shepherd's dog, I tell him. She needs to run."

"I'll show you where the dog park is for next time. You can let her run there." Sasha frowned almost as soon as the words left his mouth, wondering what he hell he was doing talking 'next time' with his dad and practically making plans for the next day, when for all he knew this could be the last time he talked to Dmitri. He'd blame it on missing Payson – it was the only reason he could figure for such senseless thoughts.

They fell into silence, which was a bit of a relief for Sasha. He wasn't really sure what to say at the moment and they'd already been civil for far longer than he was used to. Given enough time, one of them was bound to say something out of line and things would degrade into harsher and harsher insults. For now he would simply enjoy his _stufat de miel_, which was not as good as his grandmother's, but was still a more than decent lamb stew.

"Did Payson get to her flight well?" Dmitri asked uncomfortably, not able to let the silence last more than a few minutes.

"She did," Sasha replied. He paused before he shared his next thought, wondering if maybe he was better keeping it to himself. Things had been so . . . pleasant these last few minutes, and maybe it could wait just a few moments more.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to head home soon yourself."

Dmitri shrugged. "I'm in no rush," he said casually, his eyes firmly locked on the food in front of him. "Is not bad," he said referring to the stew. His attempt to change the conversation did not go unnoticed by Sasha.

"What do you mean, dad?" he asked, clearly confused. He married his question with a pointed look before Dmitri could start waxing on the pros and cons of their meal.

"I . . . do not have to leave," Dmitri replied slowly as though speaking for clarity. The inflection rose ever so slightly at the end of his sentence, just a hint of a question in his voice.

"You can stay," Sasha answered. He wasn't even sure himself if he was simply trying to clarify Dmitri's statement, or if it was somehow an offer of hospitality.

"_Da._ I can stay," Dmitri repeated. He nodded once to himself, just a small smile on his lips and then returned to his food. "Is missing something, yes?" he asked, pointing to the dish once again. Sasha let the change in subject stand this time.

"It's ginger," Sasha replied. "_Bunică_ used ginger in her recipe."

And with that it was settled. Dmitri was staying and Sasha, for the life of him, couldn't seem to mind.

.

.

_Seven weeks later . . ._

~ to be continued ~

Whenever I get to the end of an arc, I sort of test to see whether I need to keep going by seeing how many loose ends are still hanging around. I actually nearly ended this story after the meet in Florida, but I felt there were still a few underlying issues left to resolve with Mark and Kaylie and the NGO. Now I feel that those are mostly resolved, I feel like I can write the conclusion. Yeah, things are still up in the air a bit with Sasha and his dad, but there's hope (Mind you, I quite like hope) and Marcus is no angel, but I don't really feel like I can revolve a story arc around either of those things.

Thus why I'm jumping forward. All the way forward. And as I've still got a few ideas hanging around my head of things that might have gone on in the weeks between, I'm going to try and put those up as little drabble type things (in the style of 16x8) mostly so I don't feel as though I've cheated you out of the story.

Anyways, this was all my round-a-bout way of saying Next Chapter = Final Chapter. And that I hope you've all enjoyed the story as much as I have. :)

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

**Translations:**

**___palavragiu:_ **Babbler (some who talks too much about nothing)**_  
__Fromoasa fata mea_: **My beautiful girl**_  
__stufat de miel:_ **A type of Romanian Lamb Stew**_  
__Bunica_: **Grandmother


	61. The End

Disclaimer: I do not own MIOBI.

**Just a Number**

* * *

Summary: What if Sasha never came to The Rock? He was never her coach, and she was never his gymnast. Now all that stands between them is the age gap . . . and the Atlantic Ocean. Not to mention his reputation, the competition, and the fact that everyone seems to have an opinion on how she should feel about him and nobody thinks he's right for her. Nothing between them but age, and well . . . it's just a number anyway, right?

* * *

.

Just a Number - The End

_North Greenich Arena – London  
August 7 2012_

"And next up we have Payson Keeler," Tim Daggett said as they waited for the previous athlete's scores to be calculated. "There seems something poetic in this – Payson finishing everything here on Floor, the event that truly cemented her as a champion at last years Worlds."

"This event that will likely cement Payson Keeler in the history books as well," commented Al Trautwig. "If she medals in this event she will be the first female gymnast in the history of the sport to win six Olympic medals in one 'Games."

"I hope she does more than medal," Elfi Schlegal added, not doing anything to hide her bias. "Her story has been so inspiring, and it would be so incredible to see her take five gold medals away from this Olympics."

"It really would," Tim agreed. "From Nationals in 2009 where she broke her back to today where she now competes in her final event of this Olympic Cycle, already the All-Around Champion, a gold medallist on Beam and the Uneven Bars, and a silver medallist on Vault.

"To think three years ago, people were saying she'd never do gymnastics again," he finished contemplatively.

"Well she proved them all abundantly wrong," Elfi said, almost as though taking person offence at all the naysayers on Payson's behalf.

"In a few moments we should have the score for Genji Cho," she said, her voice taking on a reverent tone as they awaited judgment. "Genji Cho, as we said earlier, performed this routine phenomenally in the All-Around finals, outscoring both Payson Keeler and Kelly Parker on floor. She needs at least 16.25 to medal today, and I honestly don't know if the routine we just saw is as good as the one we saw in the All-Around."

"I think the judges are of the same mind," Tim said ominously as the scores were posted. "When you see a routine like the one Genji Cho performed last week, you can't help but compare them. There was nothing explicitly wrong with what she did today, but the judges likely felt they _had_ to discount her by comparison to the earlier performance."

"But 16.395 does put her in first place on the leader board," Al noted. "And in contention for the gold medal."

"But hopefully not for long," Elfi said, segueing the conversation back to the final gymnast on this apparatus. "Performing now to Tchiakovsky's Swan Lake - our final competitor in the woman's competition_. Payson Keeler."_

* * *

Taking a deep, calming breath, Payson waited for the first haunting notes of her floor music to fill the arena. She began low to the ground, like the artistic gymnast she never thought she would be, her body slowly unfurling with each sinuous movement of the music_. _And then she twirled away from her starting position in the centre of the floor with grandiose leaps and turns – split leap to sissone with an elegant pirouette to finish – taking her to her mark in the corner.

In the brief moment she had to centre herself, she thought about the story she was about to tell. She thought about the first time they met and the way he had smiled at her like she was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. She thought about the first time they danced together, and the way she'd wanted to kiss him even then, but held back, far too shy to try and kiss a man she'd only just met the previous day. She thought about their first kiss, standing in front of her house with the snow swirling around them in tiny flurries and his lips warm against her own despite the winter chill. And the many kisses that followed: bittersweet when they were saying goodbye; gentle and chaste when they were saying hello; the building passion as they became closer, bordering upon possessive; and the almost exploratory kisses that led to something more. She thought about the challenges they had faced together, and how much stronger they were because of them.

She no longer thought of _Romeo and Juliet_ when she performed this routine, which was as much his as it was hers. Shakespeare, as brilliant was he was, seemed somehow insufficient compared to her own story flashing through her mind in a single instant before she dashed into her first tumbling pass.

A round-off flic-flac to build momentum for her backwards double pike with a full twist and then an Arabian salto. The series flowed seamlessly together, and she landed with little difficulty despite this, arguably, being the most difficult of her tumbling passes.

Moving with grace and elegance, her movements purely ballet, she travelled across the floor, pausing near the centre for what would be the highlight of her routine for many watchers. She moved into fourth position, raising onto demi-pointe with the rising music, then pushed off her back leg into multiple turns – four in fact – bringing her working leg _en passé_, close to her body so she was more aerodynamic. There was a cry of applause as she finished the four complete turns, each pirouette perfectly controlled, but she had little time to absorb it. She stepped lightly forward – _ballon_ Jayden had called it – bringing her feet together before she dived towards the ground, tucking her body into a forward roll and landing back on her feet.

She danced towards the corner, her arms moving gracefully around her in imitation of the swan in her music. A small smile pulled at her lips as she thought about the ballet, and how Sasha had tried so hard to make her see herself through his eyes (even braving Viola's wrath for her). She wasn't sure if she truly believed herself capable of such beauty, even now. All she knew was that when Sasha looked at her the way he did that night at the ballet, she felt beautiful and that even if she wasn't, it was enough that he believed it.

The music built to a crescendo as she ran forward once again, this time handspringing forward into a full twisting layout followed by a second salto in the same position but with two full twists. She held her lines, making the powerful combination look elegant and controlled and practically effortless. From there, she lowered herself down to the ground, ensuring she made use of both levels in her routine, before travelling over the floor once again, stopping only to perform a wolf-hop with a 720 turn and landing in the far corner.

She turned on the balls of her feet and bent at the waist, bowing down to the ground and sweeping her hand from the floor back up towards the ceiling, the music complementing the gesture. Then it was into the third of her tumbling passes, starting with an aerial walk-over that was included purely for the aesthetic and then a forward/backward combination going from a tucked salto with a half-twist to a backwards layout with one and a half twists.

From there she went into her final dance passage. Like the first it was purely ballet with sissones and arabesques displaying her artistry, balance, and flexibility. With only seconds left in her routine, she began her fourth and final tumbling pass, only pausing a moment to think of the words that had begun her on this path – three innocuous little words. _You're Payson Keeler._ That was all it took

A round-off propelled her into a backwards whipped salto, which flowed directly into her dismount: a double Arabian piked. She took off backwards after her first salto and twisted her body around before propelling herself into the two piked fronts. She landed lightly on her feet as the last note of her music rang through the arena, her arms raised in her last ever salute.

No matter what the judges made of it, for her it was the best she had ever been and the moment she would remember for the rest of her life.

* * *

"Well," Al said, the first to break the sudden silence that had taken over the commentary box. His two co-commentators – usually so verbose before, during, and after a performance – were both stunned into silence.

"Honestly, I don't have the words," Tim managed, his mouth opening and closing even after he was done speaking.

"I don't think I've ever seen her more beautiful," Elfi said, wiping a tear from her eye as she came to her senses. "Just . . . she's in a league of her own."

* * *

"You are ready?"

Sasha flicked his eyes briefly from the small television screen in a corner of the locker room to reply. "Just a minute," he replied, his eyes already drifting back to elegant creature on the television screen.

Nikolai gave a small huff of annoyance, but did not try to hurry him along.

So Sasha watched her for a few more moments, as entranced as he had been the first time he saw her dancing by herself in front of wall of mirrors. And yet she was so different from the girl he had met that day – the one who had been self-conscious and wary and complete oblivious to her effect on him. Here she was now, strong and confident. A force to be reckoned with.

_"Tu ai ceva aparte, frumoasa fata mea,"_ he murmured to himself, pride and awe muddling in his tone. The music faded, and all that was left was Payson standing in the centre of the floor, flooded with the praise and accolades that he always knew were coming to her.

An announcement filtered across the radio system, calling the Parallel Bars finalists into the arena.

_"_Come along, _Voin_," Nikolai said before Sasha could try to linger any longer – he only wanted to stay to see the look on her face when they made the announcement. "It is time."

Sasha nodded and followed behind him. His Olympic career finally coming to an end.

He had come so far in that time. Back then he was a sad, angry boy who felt he needed to prove himself to a woman he didn't love and a father who would hate him for winning. He was a different man today, one who only needed to prove this to himself. No one else.

But all the same, this last time - this final event. This one was for Payson.

* * *

There was an uproarious cheer from the crowd as the scores were finally posted and her name slipped past her competitors to the top of the leader board. The number 16.675 flashed beside it, nearly three tenths higher than Kaylie and Genji Cho.

"I don't care what that score says," Marty muttered beside her, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "That routine was perfect, Payson," he said, his smile warm with pride.

"Thank you," she said, lifting her chin and sending him a watery smile. She was so grateful for everything he'd done – for being the first person to really believe in her dream.

_"You are so welcome, Payson Keeler,"_ Marty answered, his voice low and slightly chocked with emotion. "It has been such an honour." He sent her one last smile before ushering her towards the event's co-ordinators, who somehow managed to get her on top of the podium for the victory ceremony. The whole moment seemed to go past her in a blur, and suddenly she was walking off the floor, following behind the other girls.

It was only several days later, sitting outside watching the London skyline, that it finally all sunk in. She'd done it. She'd gone to the Olympics. She'd won six Olympic medals (five of them gold).

She had everything she ever wanted.

"So this is what it feels like," she mused quietly to herself, the words themselves somehow making it more real.

"What what feels like?" Sasha asked, slipping through the sliding door to the deck with a bowl in each hand. Rassilon eagerly lifted her head from Payson's lap at the prospect of food, but he shook his head and she dropped it back down with what could only be described as doggie sigh of resignation.

Payson smiled at him lightly, shifting to make more room for him beside her. "I think I'm just starting to realize what happened," she said, her voice carrying a tinge of awe. "I thought it would feel different," she added, frowning a little.

"Different how?" he asked, tilting her his head to the side.

She shrugged, but smiled to reassure him that it was not a bad difference. "I suppose I thought there'd be this big moment of all consuming joy – like it would just sort of burst out of me," she explained. "It's sort of quieter. I feel . . . content," she said pausing a moment before settling on the right word.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked carefully.

"No," she said. "I always tried to imagine how I'd feel at the end of this. I really am so happy," she said meaningfully, "and I think only a little bit of that has to do with the gold medals." She grinned playfully, gesturing for him to come closer

Sasha smiled back, putting his dishes to one side so he could cup her face in his hands. His finger were cold against her cheeks as he wiped away the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes and then leaned forward to place a light kiss against her lips. "I love you," he told her sincerely.

"I know," she replied cheekily, her smile growing wider still. "I love you too, _scumpule_," she added, her tone softer. She leaned forward to share another kiss, only to have Sasha pull away before she could properly begin to enjoy it.

"Here. Before it melts," he said, handing her one of the bowls. "You have no idea how hard it is to find cookie dough ice cream in London, _dragă_," he complained with a mock glare.

"And these?" she asked, pointing with her spoon to the fried parcels melting her ice cream.

_"Gogosi,"_ Sasha replied, looking very pleased with himself. "Romanian donuts. Just like my_Bunica_ used to make them."

She prodded the dish gingerly, looking a little unsure of herself. "I feel like we should be making a toast or something," she said, not quite ready to dig in. They were officially sending off their gymnastics careers with the most deliciously fattening foods the two had been craving for years and years.

"To what?" he asked, pausing before he brought a spoon of ice cream and donut to his mouth.

"To the end of an era?" she suggested, frowning at her own choice of words.

Sasha shook his head, smiling gently as he lifted his spoon to her lips. It didn't feel like an ending. Not really.

This wasn't an ending . . . just an ellipsis. A pause. A transition.

Because endings were usually sad. And this . . . well this was just the beginning.

* * *

_And in the end the love you take;  
Is equal to the love you make._

_~ Paul McCartney "The End"_

* * *

**Notes:** And now it's done. Sort of.

I'm not really sure when the drabbles will start - I'm about half way through two of them - but I'll just post them in the same story so you won't need to go hunting around for them.

I can't believe that I've been writing this story for over a year. And it's over 100K. That's the longest thing I've ever written.

Once again, thank you all for reading this.

~ Virgo

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**Translations:**


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